Teardrop
by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: The story of Galen Erso and Orson Krennic, from start to finish. Will include GalenxKrennic, GalenxLyra and appearances by others in Rogue One. Inspired by Teardrop Inn by Sundy Best.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N) I'm officially obsessed with Orson Krennic. Hands down, him and Obi-Wan are the ultimate baes. I hope you enjoy the story, please R and R, let me know what you think!**

He smiled, his most charming, well-adjusted smile that he reserved only when his need was greatest. This was one such occasion, when a failing physics grade would have meant he couldn't complete the engineering program and the only person who understood the Munich theory they had been learning was sitting in front of him, somewhat reminiscent of a wounded animal. He stuck out a hand, "Orson Krennic." He knew this boy's name, but thought they might be better served by formality, given his classmates startled features.

After a moment of silence, the other boy took it. "Galen Erso." Krennic waited, the smile still on his face as he pulled his hand back. After a prolonged awkwardness, Galen spoke again, "Did you need something?"

"May I sit for a moment?" He tried to act almost shy, match his persona to Galen's, a difficult task for a man who typically proceeded boldly forward with whatever he was planning. Galen nodded and Orson flipped open his holopad as he pulled the chair out. "We have physics together."

"You sit in the third row. Second seat from the left." Orson was startled, his eyebrows lifting upwards for a moment, but he just nodded. "We haven't spoken before."

"True." He was beginning to wonder where Galen Erso had gotten his social cues, clearly not from the same place Orson had: state dinners, formal gatherings, lavish parties where everyone had money and could quickly talk their way to more. He had learned that being blunt rarely got you anywhere in a conversation, though now with Galen, all he had learned seemed upended. "There's never a bad time to make friends."

"Oh." Was all Galen said, almost as if he could not imagine someone trying to make friends with him. He stared at Orson for a moment, who was starting to question his plan altogether, but Krennic, having perfected the art of asking for help, began to look like he was working on his own holopad and Galen followed suit. He had a pen, an actual pen and pad of flimsi in front of him, running fingers over the screen of his old-model holopad and taking notes in flowing, multicolored script as Krennic watched him. He was writing mathematical formulas as if they were simple sentences, his lips flicking up and down at the corners as he worked, up when he easily moved through part of a problem, down when he would hit a small snag. But to Krennic's wonder, the snags remained small and nothing seemed to stop his progress for more than a few short moments.

He pretended to work on his screen, responding to communications from friends about dinner plans under the guise of homework. He needed this boy's help, but was almost too interested in watching him to interrupt his progress. His need for a decent grade won out, however, and he quickly switched the screen over to the problem he had been stuck on for well over an hour.

"I noticed you were working on the section about Munich." He said, and after finishing a line of script, Galen's dark eyes flickered upwards at him. "Do you think you could help me with this?" He turned the pad, though Galen's eyes stayed on him for another moment before moving to the screen.

"You are not using the Rydberg constant correctly. It is supposed to be in the first section of the equation, not the second." He had looked at the problem for all of three seconds before he answered and went back to his own work. Krennic blinked, looking over his own work, not fully understanding why what Galen said was true, but knowing that it was correct. He redid the work, and in a few minutes, realized that Galen had been right, his problem now corrected to reflect the right answer.

He started work on the next one, remembering when to use the constant, but it was no use. "Sorry," He said, doing his best to look sheepish. "What about this one?" Galen leaned back this time, setting his pen down.

"Divide it into two sections, the theory applies only to things already in motion. The second is not." Galen sat, and Krennic was very aware that his eyes were on him as he began and finished the calculations. "Do you need help with the next one?" Krennic could feel his face going red, an unfortunate habit. He rubbed his hand roughly over his neck.

"If you don't mind." He set up the pad between them, and in his own short, clipped fashion Galen began to explain what was happening in each of the remaining questions. There were occasions when Krennic would interrupt him for explanation and he would blink as if he hadn't really expected him to be listening. But then he would continue, offering a few words of help before moving on with his original explanation. By the end, Krennic thought he might have a decent shot at passing whatever quiz was coming up, and the test after that, and that he certainly had gotten a perfect score on the homework.

"Well," He said, when the 100% flashed across the screen as they finished, "Thank you, Galen. You may have saved my career in engineering after all."

After a moment, Galen spoke, "You want to join the Corp?" Krennic tilted his head, the Republic Corp of Engineers was the most profitable arm of the Republic, where men and women were paid large sums of money to design the inner workings of the Republic and feed the machines of safety and waging war that it kept. His father certainly wanted that future, which was the most secure job in the galaxy, but if he had to be honest, he saw himself as more of a visionary. He found himself focusing most easily in his architecture courses, which he was slowly filling his electives with, and thought that might suit him better. Grand construction projects, branding his name and style across the galaxy: it would be perfect.

"Perhaps. Are you? You certainly seem to…"

"Research." Galen said, and then looked down, realizing he had interrupted. But Krennic didn't mind, the rest of his words had been simple filler. "I think I am more suited for research. I have some ideas in mind."

He was looking back up at him, and Krennic watched as the tops of his ears turned pink as he spoke. He thought for a moment, thinking that Galen would probably be best suited for research, the solitude of work rather than the extensive team efforts that were dominating the engineering field as the galaxy became larger and larger, and the projects along with it.

"I'd love to hear them." He said, with that smile again, and just the right tone of flattery. "But I'm afraid I've got to be going." He stood, placing his pad back inside of his bag. Galen was looking down again, obviously thinking that since Orson Krennic had gotten what he wanted, he wouldn't pay him any more mind or time or attention. "Are you available for lunch tomorrow? After class, I know an excellent place not far from here we could go."

Galen blinked up at him, that same look of almost startled fear on his face. His ears turned pink again, and he drew his arms into his body. "I am on the dining plan…" Krennic tried not to curl his lips at the thought of having to eat the horrible food served in the dining halls each day. He often went only for a quick bite of breakfast, or something small after a pick-up game of smashball. He, along with most of the others, had more than enough money to eat wherever they chose.

"My treat, of course. Since you have gotten me through physics, the least I can do is a meal." He smiled, knowing how to make his paying for it not seem like an act of charity but rather one of retribution. "It will give us a further chance to discuss your research."

Galen said nothing for a long time, his eyes moving back and forth. "Of course, if you would rather not..." Krennic said, and Galen immediately shook his head.

"I will meet you tomorrow after class." Galen interrupted again, again looking down.

"Excellent." He said, and pulled his bag around his shoulders, leaving with a flourish to the confused looks of other students who couldn't understand why Orson Krennic would spend any more time than he had to with a scholarship student from Grange.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, you're from Grange?" Galen Erso was picking apart a piece of bread with long fingers that Orson can see are weathered and calloused, the skin dark around the knuckles and nails. He looks at his own hands, the skin pale enough that he can see his veins towards the ridge above his thumb. He wonders if he should pity Galen for living a life to merit such rough hands, or do something to make his own look more worn.

"Yes. My family owns land there." His words, as they were the day before, are clipped. Not in a rude fashion, only because Krennic gets the impression that Galen will never say more than he has to.

"What is it that they do?"

"They are farmers." Krennic stirs his soup, taking a view bites. It's rich, thick and full of starch. Galen hasn't touched his, seeming instead intent on removing every bit of crust from his roll.

"The soup is good." Galen's eyes look up to him, impassive, as he sorts the bits of food on his plate into two neat piles, crust and the middle of his bread. Only then did he touch his spoon, removing the garnish before he stared to eat his food. "Are you an only child?"

"Yes." Galen said, after a couple of bites of soup. "My mother has not remarried since my father passed and she has no other children." It briefly crossed Krennic's mind if Galen Erso was capable of lying. If he was, he certainly didn't seem to mind sharing things with Orson, whom he had known for less than a full day.

"I'm an only child as well. Makes it easier to leave, I suppose." Galen continued to eat his soup slowly and deliberately, occasionally setting his spoon down to eat a piece of bread. Krennic leaned back in his chair, choosing instead to study Galen Erso, since it was clear that he did not want to talk.

He had done his research on this strange boy the night before, after all was said and done and his roommate had gone to bed, he had sat up late on his holopad and found all there was to know about Galen Erso. He looked identical in the pictures they had of him from when he was awarded his scholarship. Though they were all required to wear uniforms on site, he could see that Galen's old clothes were worn, torn, and stained with dirt. His face had hardened lines of a much older man, and the woman next to him in these photos, his mother, looked nothing like him except in the strength she seemed to possess, her dress just as worn as his. As he looked at Galen now, he could tell the same from his uniform, it was an older wear, one from last year. He wondered how many the boy owned when he himself had enough to last him a couple of weeks before he could pay off a staff member to do his laundry.

Beyond that, those view pictures and photographs of Galen accepting his scholarship, there was nothing. No record of family, no employment for the Republic, no record of formal schooling. Nothing. Except his name attached to research he had done with a professor the year before on Ilum, where he had been allowed entry to a special Jedi sanctuary, apparently to study kyber crystals. That was it. The boy in front of him, which he had learned was a couple of years older, was an enigma to say the least. And he, being the person he was, wanted to know more about him.

And, so, he did the only thing that he knew to without speaking. He watched. Watched as Galen's fingers seemed to twitch and tighten over the ends of his cloth napkin. Watched as he organized and then reorganized his food each time it would fall briefly out of place. Watched as he, when he finished his soup, wiped the spoon completely clean with a perfectly folded paper napkin before placing it back on the table, aligning it with his fingers to the other two. An interesting person, indeed.

"Do you know what you are going to order?" Krennic, unable to handle the prolonged silence.

"I have not eaten here before." He said, folding his hands in front of him on the table, looking directly at Krennic. His gaze was almost piercing, as if he were questioning Krennic at all times. Krennic welcomed the challenge. "Do you have a recommendation?"

"I like the pasta." Krennic said, folding his menu and placing it on the table. "Or, occasionally, some of the poultry options."

"The pasta sounds like a good choice." Galen said, and closed his own menu, his gaze suddenly breaking from Krennic's.

"I saw your name attached to some research in the program records." Krennic said, picking up his drink to make his statement appear casual. "Is that what you were talking about?"

"The kyber research?" Galen looked back up again, almost startled. Krennic nodded, rolling his finger so that Galen might continue. But the waiter interrupted him. After they had ordered, Galen in a low, mumbling tone, KRennic looked back at him.

"It seemed quite impressive. To get to see a piece of Jedi architecture alone would be incredible." Galen nodded. "Are you continuing that line of work?"

He had not thought it possible, but something in Galen Erso seemed to open when he began to speak again. His words came fast, drawing out his outer-rim accent even more so than usual. He began to speak in calculations, in terms of energy generation and power cores and strength of star systems and things Krennic understood on a very base level, far more still than most of the population. He spoke from memory: the equations vital to his own calculations, and spun a web of possibilities for harvesting, manipulating, and using kyber as a means of progress for the galaxy.

As Krennic listened, his smile grew broader, more genuine. To have a person so invested in an idea was always valuable, to know what a person considered to be of the utmost importance always gave a leg up in terms of negotiation and decision-making. However, for reasons not known to him, he was happy for another reason. It was obvious that this discussion was making Galen Erso the happiest he had ever seen him. Fully invested in both mind and spirit to an idea he truly believed would help. And, though he lacked Krennic's acute articulation, he spoke with an urgency that almost made Krennic see the pieces of his vision.

He continued speaking, uninterrupted, until the food came. It seemed to occur to him how long he had been talking, and Krennic watched as his ears grew red with embarrassment, no longer meetings Krennic's eyes, but instead staring at the noodles on his plate. And lunch ended that way, with Galen Erso looking down in silence and Orson Krennic watching his every move.

The next day, he moved seats in physics. He no longer sat in the third row, but in the only empty seat in the class, next to Galen Erso, who looked at him with his usual expression by said nothing. If the professor noticed, he said nothing as he handed back exams. Krennic stuffed his away, the high marks meaning little in the face of what he had now discovered. The boy sitting next to him was a genius, he had dropped the name a few times since lunch and discovered that he had disproven a professor on his first semester here.

The girl he always sat next to turned back to look at him, some of the other boys whose father's and mother's were important people began to whisper around him. He knew what they were saying, but in the end it wouldn't matter.

"Did you need something?" Galen Erso asked him, and he turned around, slightly startled. Galen was not one to initiate their handful of conversations.

"Not today." And it was true. He needed nothing. Not yet. And perhaps a small part of him only wished for Galen's company. An unusual feeling for someone who had long ago decided that alone was the best way to be.


	3. Chapter 3

He stepped out of his room, the hallways cast in low light as most of the occupants were either fast asleep, working on unfinished problem sets, or nursing a bottle to completion behind closed doors. He didn't see anyone else in the hall, a rarity for him not to be surrounded by a somewhat admiring posse, but tonight he breathed a sigh of relief. He had stayed up far too late working for finals beginning tomorrow, and his brain was moving far too quickly to sleep.

He ran a hand through his hair, having pulled on a coat over his sleep tunic and pants so that if he wanted, he could go outside. He saw one of the custodians mopping the hall at the end of the lane, but other than that, nothing even made him pause when walked out of the door, the sounds and lights of the city they were under coming to life as the air he breathed changed around him from staleness and sleep to the bright lights of a fast-paced life that he would enjoy someday, when the days of useless schooling were behind him.

So far below the planet's surface, it was cold, and he pulled his jacket tight around him, knowing better than to leave the school grounds this late alone. So instead he walked, willing the energy that he had used to process calculations and consider different approaches in his architectural construction to still in his brain. He was starting to think it was no hope, considering returning to his room for the parcel of cigarettes he kept hidden in his roommate's (who had dropped out without telling him) old desk to ease some of the tension he was feeling. Or perhaps a glass of whiskey, placed in one of his dress boots beneath his neatly pressed school uniforms in his closet. But, then, standing by the knee-high fence, he saw a familiar figure.

The dark hair of Galen Erso stood out in contrast to the rest of him wrapped in light from a nearby illuminator. He was facing away, hands in his pockets, looking out over the fence into the nothing that lied beyond it. Krennic paused, watching him for a moment. This was the only place on campus where the actual sky, not the city was visible. One of the many access pipes lined with lifts to carry professors, students, and teachers to the upper levels at will, and to move people around above them. Beyond that lay the galaxy, illuminated in simple dots along the rim of the upper atmosphere. A scene that Galen was watching with the same kind of intensity that Krennic had seen him approach all things.

He still knew little of Galen Erso. He was quiet enough that if Krennic didn't ask him a direct question, he rarely spoke. Krennic had never seen him in the nightclub most frequented by students, never drinking in the large or small groups that collected around campus, he rarely even saw him at the required social events hosted by the college as a source of networking. And when he was there, he was usually alone, standing in a corner until it was acceptable for him to leave. They now shared a desk in physics, and when Krennic would go to the library alone, he would seek Galen out, sit with him, even if he didn't need assistance. His grades had gone up by ten percentage points, and he and this strange boy were now top of the class. He was yet to see Galen smile.

He wondered why he was here at all. Outside at three in the morning, of course, when he had seen no one except the janitor. But also at Brendaal in general, where he seemed to fit in best with the books he was always with.

"It's strange to see the stars so far below the planet's surface." Galen whipped around, his ears turning their characteristic red with embarrassment, but he held Krennic's gaze, completely expressionless. "Although it's not much easier to see them from Lexrule's capital than it is from here."

He stepped forward, hands in his coat pocket. The thin jacket that Galen wore was laughable against the wind that was whipping around them from the speeders and barges that flew past on the underground speedways. Krennic frowned, wishing briefly that he could do something to help him, but since Galen didn't seem bothered, he ignored the odd twinge.

"You are from Lexrule?" Galen said, in his accented lilt, both of them now gazing at the galaxy beyond them.

"Yes. My parents are there, my father owns a large portion of the banking on the planet, my mother's family has made their fortune in public health." He was surprised to find himself sounding almost guilty. He had never, when discussing his past, though his past a point of contention. In the program, there were others that were far wealthier, who came from larger families that had wielded power across the galaxy for centuries. Now, it felt odd. To discuss money as if it were definitive of himself. That wasn't what he wanted. His family name had gotten him here, but it would be his own talents, his own greatness that would carry him forward. And here, with Galen Erso, who he had realized over the past three weeks might be the most brilliant man he had ever met, his family money seemed to be a very far away thing indeed. "Not the nicest people to be around though, not someone to look at stars with."

Galen blinked, his ear read-tipped again, but he turned slightly towards Krennic, his eyes still fixed on the far stars. "They are easy to see on Grange. Over the trees. My mother likes them. She thinks they give her the light that she needs."

"Needs for what?" Krennic couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth, a rare flaw for him. But his weariness was starting to settle into his bones and his mind. He tried to imagine having a similar conversation with his own mother, who sat opposite him at their long dinner table and rarely spoke to anything but the voice commands on her holopad as she ran the Medical Center in the capital from home. Or his father, who had all the expression of a boot and as much of the personality. It was absurd.

"I am not sure. She has never explained it." He looked over at Galen Erso and watched his face. He looked calmer than Krennic had ever seen him, there was no tension in his serious features, no strain. He looked forward with the calmness of a boy who knew all that he wanted from the world and was confident it would come to him. He looked almost happy, his thin lips turned slightly upwards in a small smile.

"Why are you out here, Galen?" Krennic, deciding to save himself the discomfort of family conversations.

"I have trouble sleeping."

"Because of finals?"

"No," Galen said, actually turning to him as if giving him some large consideration. "I have trouble sleeping most nights. Why are you out here, Orson?"

It was rare that someone used his first name, even the people who had given it to him usually just referred to him with a look or general statement in his direction. He blinked. "Finals, I suppose. Needed to burn off some energy." Galen nodded, looking away again. "Would you like to go in now, it's a bit cold, and your jacket seems…thin."

Galen looked down, as if noticing for the first time that his jacket was almost see through in large patches. He nodded, and to Krennic's surprise, gave a small laugh at himself. It was an odd sound, nice but strange, as if he hadn't done it too often and was nervous about how it might sound. "Of course."

They turned to walk in, taking most of the first steps in silence, Krennic realizing he could see his breath as walked back towards the compound. "You are in architecture courses?" Galen asked. Krennic nodded, a little surprised. He couldn't remember mentioning it. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing major yet. Hopefully soon."

"What are you planning?" Galen's words seemed carefully measured, almost as if he had practiced speaking them. Krennic had to wonder briefly if he had, but decided to appreciate the effort. The rest of their walk, all the way to Krennic's room, was spun with tales of his designs, how to make the structures he was planning condensed in space but appear large in scale. How the simple line effects he had planned would be effective in increasing space and making the entire structure more symmetrical. Galen listened, nodding on occasion, but never interrupting.

They parted, and Krennic shut the door behind him, leaning back on it. He could hardly believe it. For him to carry their conversations was typical. For Galen to instigate them was unheard of, and for him, who was only as open as he needed to be with personal information, to have talked straight about some of the things he considered most important with a potential competitor, was astounding. But yet, thinking of Galen's smile as he spoke, his slight laugh outside, his ear tips turning red as he faced away, he couldn't help but give a small smile himself, abandoning his coat and letting the tiredness pulling at his bones as he sank back onto his mattress before the next day came too quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

"Would you like one?" He asked, holding out a piece of spun sugar candy in his hand. Galen didn't look up from his paper, shaking his head to the point that he had to push fringe out of his eyes to continue. "For kriffs sake, Galen, the term is over." But the boy shook his head, seeming not to care too much that that classes had finished when there was work to be done.

And that was true enough. The rest of campus was moving around them at an even pace, with the two of them seated at a table while everyone shuttled out bags and boxes to go home for the break. Had it been this time last year, Krennic would have been among them. His last comm home had been to tell them he was staying and a large deposit in his bank account to finance it a few minutes after he had hung up. They wouldn't be the only ones here, of course, there would be others spread out few and far between over the next two weeks, but none that Krennic had interest in. Students who were old enough to not want to go home and also not want to talk to him, others whose parent's didn't want them home and who he saw no bright future for. And then there was Galen, who sat doing calculations despite the fact that he had aced every exam over the past week and was sitting as the quiet champion of their physics class.

Their professor had approached him, Krennic had seen it. He had wanted Galen to continue his work, offered him funding. He had heard Galen say that he needed to consider it, which he personally thought was foolish. "Have you taken Candor up on his research offer?" He saw Galen's blink, even though he wasn't looking at him.

"Not yet." He continued to work.

"You seem hesitant." Galen seemed to realize, though it had taken him longer than most might, that Krennic was not going to stop talking and let him write. "He seems to be offering you everything you need to continue your research."

"Yes." Galen's hands were folded, "But," He hesitated, as if about to share something that he had second thoughts about. "There will be others…"

Krennic realized that Galen would not be able to work with just anyone. It was one thing to be able to research on your own with the kind of focus Galen had, it would be nearly impossible for him to focus in a group dynamic. "Right." He said, letting Galen's ears turn their characteristic red. "There are other opportunities as well."

"Perhaps I will pursue them." He said, and then cocked his head at Krennic, as if contemplating something to himself.

"What?" Krennic was in no mind to keep secrets between them, Galen had been silent and reserved for the better part of the past hour and he was tired of thinking things to himself.

"What are you planning, Orson?" Galen asked slowly, "I know you have gotten offers." And it was true, of course. He had gotten a potential internship with a Senator on Coruscant to shadow him in his office in the months between terms. Another he had been in the works with was the architectural professor who had been so impressed with his designs, he was working on securing Republic grants to look further into it.

"Yes, well," He drummed his fingers on the table. "Politics and architecture. Nothing as exciting as theoretical physics, I'm afraid."

"You do not have to be modest." Krennic had to grin at that. A thing he had noticed about Galen Erso: not only was this boy incredibly honest himself, seeming almost repulsed by the idea of lying, but was able to detect the subtle lies in others. Krennic, in any other situation, would have made his offers of work almost sheepishly. Not to elevate himself to highly, let others come to the conclusion of his intelligence on their own. Not Galen. Galen, it seemed, knew him better than that in this odd semblance of a friendship. "Those are both excellent opportunities."

"I think I will most likely do architecture, it allows for more freedoms of choice and I choose my own collaborators." He watched for any change in Galen's expression, but all he gave was a short nod, as if he simply agreed that would be a good thing. It lingered at the back of his mind that there was a part of him, almost bursting at his lips, to ask Galen if he wanted to work with him. Be one of those collaborators. Possibly the only one. But the other part, the seemingly smarter part, kept him quiet for the time being. Best to secure a position for himself first, and then make it seem like a favor to him to ask Galen to join. Besides, being honest with himself, beyond their interactions in the classroom, he did not know Galen exceptionally well. He was quiet, reserved. Krennic needed a companion he could trust.

"Who do you live with Galen?" Galen blinked at him, his eyes widening.

"Lyall Reese." He said carefully, but even Galen couldn't disguise the dislike in his voice. Lyall Reese was a name Krennic knew, a boy whose father was a big name Senator from the mid-rim, who had a penchant for lawsuits and having his opponents assassinated (all disproven of course). Krennic had often seen Lyall taking up a stall in one of the refreshers on their floor when he had downed too much alcohol when it was half-price at the nearest bar. As far as Krennic could tell, the boy was useless, which seemed to be an opinion that Galen shared.

"How open would you be to considering a new arrangement?" He said, pulling his holopad from his bag with all of the agreements on it, and tossing a packet containing his former roommates card scanner onto the table between them.

Galen Erso cocked his head, and after a moment of silence between them, for only the second time that Krennic had seen, he smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

It took all of an hour to move Galen in, particularly with the help of the credits Orson had bribed a custodian with to let them borrow one of his hovercarts to move almost everything at once. When it was finished, Galen's things took up less than half of the room, with only the desk showing any sign of what Krennic knew were a whole slew of eccentricities. It was stuffed on the sides with the packs of Flimsi that Galen valued so highly, all coed in the same ink pattern that Krennic had taken a few moments to discern and memorize.

Equations: green, formulas: blue, lecture notes: purple, political and legal issues: orange. Galen's own notes were a mix of all three, with his personal insertions scrawled in black alongside the margins. The rest, not important enough to merit their own colors, were all in a light teal that was sparse on his many sheets and which Krennic had rarely seen him reference. It was all fascinating, all of the notebooks; he wondered how long Galen had worked on them all, given that he hadn't truly been in the program that long.

The rest of Galen's things were rather simple: four uniforms that were perfectly pleated and hugn in the closet. Simple bedding that was the black and white, standard issue for all of them. A single pillow that rested perfectly on top of Galen's made bed. A black rug that was half-covered with Galen's shoes and the other half with his backpack. No decorations, nothing extraordinary, though Krennic had watched him place something with exceptional care into the top drawer of his desk, shutting it quickly, his ears reddening when he noticed Krennic was looking. An innate curiosity almost took over him, and he made a mental note to ask or take a look for himself later. Galen didn't seem the type to keep secrets.

"Well, what do you think?" Krennic was proud of his half of the room, the holo-button above his bed that displayed the entirety of the Republic-controlled galaxy in a display whenever he wanted. He would show Galen later.

"This is much nicer." Galen said, and Krennic could detect, with his incredible knack for reading others, the lift of happiness in his new roommate's voice. He had stayed up the night before, his last night alone after they had gotten all of the paperwork filed away, and thought about what might change between them, in particular, what his gesture might mean to Galen. He would lying to himself if he said he didn't enjoy their quiet chats, so very different from his fast-paced social interactions with the others he called friends. High-pressure encounters with high stakes, that left his blood pumping and usually the feel of money in his pocket or the taste of alcohol on his lips. Times with Galen were different, as if the entire world was focused around them and their conversation, and yet no one could quite penetrate that guard around them. He knew that people watched their interactions, students, professors, and wondered how Orson Krennic had ever gotten Galen Erso to speak to him so openly. "Thank you, Orson."

He said it so quietly that Krennic almost missed it, but then smiled to himself, laying back on his own bed. He had realized, in his midnight thoughts, that to Galen Erso, this was probably the only extension of genuine friendship he had seen in possibly his whole life. Their lunch together, then this; two rather unextravagent gestures in Krennic's opinion, but what seemed to mean an incredible amount to this strange boy. His strange friend.

Galen sat on his bed as well and Krennic could feel his eyes on him in one of his opulent stares. "Well?" He said, and swung his leg over the side of the bed.

"Yes?" Galen answered, his legs sticking straight out off the edge of his bed.

"You're staring at me, Galen." He answered. "I figured you needed something."

"No," and Galen shook his head, "I am merely considering things."

"What are you considering?" He realized his bed was elevated slightly above Galen's, probably because he actually had a mattress pad. "Having second thoughts?"

The boy shook his head vigorously, his ears and the rest of his face turning that dark red it did when he was embarrassed to the point that Krennic almost felt bad since it seemed Galen might be afraid he would rescind his offer. "I am thinking of the nature of our relationship." Galen said, and it seemed to Krennic he had not been the only one up late considering things.

He slid off the bed, flattening out any potential rumples on his clothing and offering a hand to Galen to help him up as well. "We're friends, Galen, its fairly simple." Krennic didn't think he had ever seen a happier individual, who took his hand as he helped pull him up. "Now, let's go have some fun."

And for moment, a brief look of fear crossed the happy features of his otherwise stoic friend. But only for a moment as he decided that whatever lie beyond the now open door with Krennic was greater that what lie behind it.


	6. Chapter 6

The music was loud, his blood was pulsing in his ears, and Galen was a solid presence that seemed to shelter him form the too-drunk bodies of the rest of the crowd. He had come here often enough that the bartender didn't question the double-shots he ordered. He didn't ask Galen any questions, but Krennic couldn't tell if that was because Galen looked like a resolute adult or if he was part of his characters.

"You don't sip it." He said, and slammed his own glass back on the bar of the club, watching Galen over the rim. "Just throw it back."

"I know how to drink." Galen had muttered at him, looking down at the amber liquid with distaste.

"If you don't want it, that's fine," Krennic said, feeling the warmth from the first two start to spread along his spine. "Hand it over." Galen looked at him like that was the worst possible scenario, and instead tossed it back into his throat, almost dropping the glass onto the clear crystal countertop. Krennic could feel himself grinning as Galen tried not to cough and sputter, so instead he grabbed his arm, pulling him into the throng. "Let's have some fun then."

There were men and women packed tight around them, seeming not to notice them for a few moments until Krennic caught the eye of a young woman who was dancing on a uninterested, possibly blitzed man. She came over to them, and before Krennic had realized it, he was with her and Galen was nowhere to be found. After the song changed, he excused himself, winking at her to show it wasn't personal. He looked for Galen, expecting to find him in a corner of the room, maybe sitting in one of the booths. Instead he was at the bar again, one empty shot on the counter, another getting ready to be poured down his throat.

"Yeah," He flagged the bartender, "Give me another one too, please." He could tell Galen hated the taste, but he could see the effects of alcohol start to come over his friend. He offered no resistance as Krennic pulled him out again to dance, this time with a small group, someone Krennic recognized letting them in. There were bodies pressed against him, he could feel his blood livening up with the pulse of the music and the flashing of the lights. And then there was Galen, who seemed almost mesmerized by the music itself, swaying with either the rhythm or acute intoxication, neither or which Krennic could be certain of. A man grabbed his hips, pulling them together, and Krennic just enjoyed the rush that comes with dancing with a stranger, that small hint of sex in the air between all of them, and he breathed it in.

Minutes in though, starting to sweat, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Orson," It was Galen, and as he turned to look at him, the pallor that had come over his olive-skinned friend's face sobered him up. "Can we leave?" There was no part of him that wanted to leave, and he thought that maybe if hea hadn't been the one to drag Galen here in the first place, he might have stayed. But another part, a surprisingly large part of him, wanted to leave with Galen. Make sure he was alright. Felt a twinge of guilt that his frined had gone in too strong, too quickly in what he now realized was an attempt to keep pace with him.

"Of course." And he followed the man out of the club, the door sliding shut behind them cancelling out all of the music and dancing and sweat behind him.

"You smell like cologne." Apparently, where regular Galen Erso couldn't lie, inebriated Galen Erso couldn't lie and had no filter.

"Might have brought someone home if we stayed." Krennic said, realizing with the flush to his face that Galen wasn't the only one without a filter. "They liked you."

"I'm starting to think drunk people like most things." Galen whispered as they rounded the corner that would carry them to the lift stop.

"You feeling friendly, then?" He asked, unable to stop himself. Galen did stop, however, and turned to look at him.

"I am finding certain things more appealing." He admitted, a far more personal note than Krennic had struck throughout most of their conversations. Four days of being roommates and Galen had been incredibly quiet, following Krennic out for nighttime trips through Coruscant on occasion, others Krennic had left and he had remained quietly working at his desk while Krennic had gone back to the pulsing air of the nightclub and even one evening spent mostly in a stranger's apartment. "Sleep, for example." He whispered as the they stepped into the lift. "Terrible food, sex…" His voice trailed off, but Krennic could see the classic red working its way down from the tips of his ears to his narrow cheeks.

He grinned at his friend, more drunk than he realized, "Had your eye on someone at the club, then? By all means, we can go back and get them?" This was the first time he had seen Galen even admit to having the ordinary feelings of an eighteen-year-old, this was a moment to remember. They stepped out unevenly at their level, making their way towards home with unsteady but purposeful gaits.

Galen shook his head forcefully at the suggestion, "Nothing like that. Please," He implored, looking like he might be sick again, "Let it go." Krennic shrugged, and kept walking. "What kind of music was that?"

He hadn't been wrong then, about Galen swaying in time with the music, it hadn't just been the Cestus whiskey that had gone to his brain. "Fake mostly. Electronic. Music to make you feel alive." He leaned heavily on his friend with a laugh, and for once, Galen did not shy away from being touched unexpectedly.

"It was interesting." He agreed, as if he thought that meant roughly the same thing. To Krennic, who had to laugh at Galen's formal tone, agreed at that moment.

"Do you play or something?" they had made it back to the compound, and after several tried swipes, finally managed to get the door to open to allow them back in to begin the trek to their room.

"Six instruments." He looked up at Galen, his surprise very defined on his flushed face.

"You never told me." And to his own amusement, Galen smiled, his slightly crooked teeth looking very endearing as he looked down shyly.

"I wasn't asked." They made it into their room, and Krennic fell onto his bed, fully-clothed with his shoes on. The effects were starting to wear down a little, he hadn't truly had that much to drink, but the atmosphere had livened him up. Strangers, personalities, mingling with those people he didn't know and had no accountability to. It was all very appealing when you had a persona operating so much.

He looked over at Galen with great effort, who, with an equal amount of effort, was trying to unlace his shoes. He laughed to himself as he watched him finally manage it and fall backwards onto his neatly made bed. "Tonight was fun, Galen."

He thought for a minute that his friend was going to call him crazy, that leaving a club less than an hour after arriving because your companion was going to throw up on his shoes was not the definition of a good night. But to his surprise, Galen turned to him, his eyelids heavy with sleep even though neither of them had turned off the lights yet, and smiled his same smile again.

"Tonight was fun, Orson." He said, closing his eyes and turning away as if to actually go to sleep. But another sentence drifted back to him. "I am glad we are friends."

Krennic, for the first time in his life, was genuinely touched. Albeit, drunk genuinely, might-not-remember-in-the-morning genuinely, but touched nonetheless. He peeled off a shoe and threw it at the light monitor, casting them into darkness before sleep started to roll over him, his thoughts strangely geared towards the feel of Galen, steady behind him as he had moved in the club, unmovable and strong as he had laughed against him, Galen's nervousness at the thought of a physical relationship with someone, the thought of him playing music, swaying and moving to soft rhythms he had created. "Me, too." He said, not sure if the thought ever made it out of his dreams or not.


	7. Chapter 7

**(A/N) Hope you all are enjoying! Couldn't resist writing this little bit with Galen and the kids :3 R and R, let me know what you think!**

He was down in the research facilities, looking for something or someone interesting. He knew Galen, since the start of term, had been spending almost all of his free time in this basement, among the whirring machines and energy compactors and hologram monitors. Normally it was easy to find him, wearing a pair of eccentric looking goggles while he almost maniacally worked over a energy converter with a small bit of kyber they had been given for research purposes after his trips to Ilum the year previous. To Krennic, as he had come to know more and more of Galen's behavior patterns, found the typical state of his friend to be both endearing and hilarious. Galen's fringe hanging over a pair of eccentric goggles, his lips flicking up and down as he watched a crystal for hours at a time, his pen swirling in different colors, humming a small classical tune whenever he was working and his mind was focused on other things.

 _"You chew your pen." Galen had told him one day, watching him over the top of the compactor. "And you aren't wearing the proper eyewear."_

 _"Yes, I have interests in not looking like a complete crackpot." He had said, hurriedly taking his pen out of his mouth. He couldn't see Galen's eyes for the dark glasses, but assumed that he was giving him the same emotionless stare that he always did, his lips pressed into a thin line._

 _"You still chew your pen." He was starting to wonder if Galen being comfortable enough with him to make snide comebacks was worth their friendship._

 _"Yes, well, you hum Murdoch's 5th Symphony whenever you look at a glowing rock." He had set his notebook down and returned Galen's glare, noting his roommate's ears turning their characteristic red in the clear glow. "I'll stick with the mild choking risk."_

Today, however, he had no such luck in finding Galen, or the professor with which he planned to continue his own architectural planning. Instead, he could hear a loud mumbling beyond the wide doors that kept the lab under the constraints that it needed. He decided to ignore it, looking around for Galen, since he wasn't the type to be involved in whatever commotion was happening beyond the door.

He had just grabbed the New Volume of Republic Construction Projects and sat on his usual stool when the doors opened. Galen was on the other side, his hair sticking out over the cover of his glasses. He saw what Krennic wagered was a very startled gaze that grew into an uncomfortable, turned-head stare as behind Galen came a parade of small Senators children.

"I am in charge of these children for a few moments." They spilled all over the research area, their small, sticky hands touching everything that wasn't above their sight line.

"Really?" Krennic said, looking behind him, but no adult came. He knew it wasn't uncommon for small children of important investors to come to the school that they would attend as children of privilege one day, but he typically made certain to steer his personal calendar away from such days. He had never liked children, and he played that to the fact that he had really never been around them: no siblings, two parents that did not interact with their siblings either. He had not particularly enjoyed his classmates as a small child, they had always been too unpredictable and always terribly sticky.

So now, he was in his own personal hell. They were milling around him like fish in a pond, so he simply folded his hands together and laid them over his book, taking controlled breaths. He saw Galen take his usual seat across from him. "You are in charge of children? Who forced this on you?"

"I volunteered." He said, and Krennic could detect the slightest note of smugness in Galen's voice. As he had gotten used to Galen's speech patterns and thoughts and subtle actions, it was easier for him to detect those subtle changes. But now, it was just infuriating to listen to Galen when he was also twitching at a loud crash at the back of the laboratory that he was certain a sniveling child had caused.

"You…"But before he could voice his almost outrage, he felt a small pat on his knee. He looked down from his stool to see a little girl, with thick-woven black hair, her skin a dark brown that matched the color of her eyes. She had been smiling at him, but one gaze at the look on his face, and she stepped back, and instead, ran over to Galen.

Galen, who Orson had never seen be voluntarily touched. Galen, who rarely had more than ten words to say. Galen, who was usually the picture of stoicism and a silent force, wrapped an arm around this little girl as she buried her face in his coat. As Krennic watched, he picked her up with a gentle smile, setting her one the desk where she could see his face. "I like your glasses." She said and laughed, reaching out what Krennic knew had to be a sticky hand to touch the lens of his glasses. He internally cringed, but again to his eternal surprise, Galen smiled his slightly crooked-tooth smile in genuine happiness.

"They are special glasses." He said, and reached down to rummage in a drawer. "Here you go." And Krennic watched, slack-jawed as Galen pulled them over her ears, she was giggling hard at him.

"Would you like some glasses, Orson?" He said, and the little girl turned, stopping her giggling as she saw Krennic. She shook her head at Galen, leaning forward to whisper something which Krennic couldn't hear over the roar of the other children behind him.

"No." He heard Galen whisper back. "Orson is not mean. Orson is a friend." Krennic knew he should have felt guilt that this small girl thought he was mean, but instead he just felt consternation that Galen had to defend him to such an insignificant figure. Then there were two pairs of odd glasses looking at him, and a little girl who giggled now at what he knew would be an angry flush across his face.

Finally, before Galen could suggest that he put the glasses on again, the head administrator and what must be the teacher of this class came through the doors, a look of excitement on the administrator's face in introducing potential new high-paying students and potential donor parents. "It seems the children have been enjoying the research facilities." The administrator had a booming voice, sweeping his arms out. The children began to swarm back to their teacher, the little girl climbing down off the desk, her classmates chattering over her new glasses.

"And I see they've met some of our finest students!" Krennic was absolutely sure that the head administrator knew neither of their names, none of their grades, achievements. Nothing of Galen's research, of his grant securing. But the man was paid to sell the school, which included its students, and especially the two who sat in front of him. "Working on research themselves, it seems. Only the best opportunities for our students." And after a few moments, their teacher led them from the lab, and Krennic closed his eyes.

When he finally reopened them, blissful quiet replacing the surges of noise, Galen had pulled up the glasses into his hair, and was staring at him, his face expressionless. "What?" He said, perhaps far more harshly than he intended.

"I did not realize your animosity towards children."

"I didn't realize you liked them so well." He snapped back at him, standing up. If it had been weeks ago, Galen would have been wounded by his harsh words, but now, his friend pulled his glasses back down over his eyes with an amused smile.

"It isn't funny, Galen." He said, and turned to leave in a flourish, all hope of being able to focus forgotten.

"Of course not." He couldn't keep the amused tone from his voice, especially not as Krennic started to brush at the new sticky spot that had formed on his knee.


	8. Chapter 8

"You should sit with us, today." Krennic was putting the final crease in his collar, curving it up to the shape of his neck. "We'll all be in the dining hall regardless."

Galen was sitting at his desk, scrolling through an article on his data pad in an almost blur as he absorbed the information in front of him. "I do not think that is a good idea."

"Why is that?" Krennic turned to him, knowing good and well why that might not be a good idea. But he was also of the opinion that Galen spent too much time in their room, in the labs, in the library, and not near enough networking properly. "You need to start forming connections, Galen, unless you want to spend your life as a starving scientist with a lot of credentials and no money."

His turned his gaze on his friend, who was doing his best to look expressionless, and to any other person, might have looked that way. But his red-tipped ears said otherwise to Krennic, who smirked a bit at him. "That will not happen."

"Fine." Krennic said, pushing the door open, "Come join us whenever you get hungry then."

And he left to join his group in the dining area. Since they had returned from break two months before to find Galen as Krennic's new roommate, he could feel the obligatory questions almost leaking off of them, especially when they would see them together. Krennic shielded them easily, most of the people around him were intelligent but not smart enough to cause problems, they had the power connections, the money connections, the stability that he knew he would need someday to mount his success. But he was starting to realize that the conversations he had with them never dipped below the surface, unlike those he had with Galen. They fawned over him, a couple of them even saying what an upstanding person he was for trying to spend so much time with one of the scholarship students. The comment twisted his stomach, and he could feel his face twitching with almost perfectly disguised anger.

But sat through lunch with them the same, actually listening to one girl's conversation about particle theory that was compelling, but mostly flashing fake smiles at the right moment's, giving people laughs that boosted their confidence and drew them further into him. It was game, and he was the main player. But his eyes almost betrayed him, kept flickering to the extra, empty seat he had pulled up for Galen. Until the chrono moved over to show that there were only ten minutes to his next class and he had to leave.

And so he did, determined to speak to Galen in their Static Particle Theory class, but when he arrived, his roommate was conspicuously absent from his usual seat at the back of the room. He sat at their joint desk, chewing the back of his stylus waiting on a boy who never showed up. He took notes, but even to him, the notes he wrote meant little to him, something to go over later, not something he could focus on now. And such things continued, when he made it through pre-Republic architecture, thermodynamics, space charting and there was still no sign of Galen. Not in the hallways, where he usually saw him scurrying in or out of the research areas with his bag slung haphazardly and his glasses still occasionally on his face.

He didn't see him at dinner, not even in the small, two-person booth he usually sat at in the back with a data pad and impassive demeanor.

"Are you alright, Krennic?" One of his friends had asked, and he had blinked at them, confused, before he realized what he had even said. He had nodded his head, but didn't speak much through dinner, choosing instead to let another, seemingly ambitious acquaintance dominate the conversation. Two months into their second term of their second year, and he could almost feel the gratitude radiating off of him, to the point that it was almost sad.

It wasn't long before he put the unfinished food in the trash, bidding them all a goodnight with a simple nod that was returned with waves. He went back to his room, practically feeling himself marching. Where in the hell was Galen? He had never missed class. Ever. Not even when he had been puking two weeks into term and managed to ruin not only his own bedsheets, but a pair of Krennic's shoes. He had still dragged himself to class, excusing himself to vomit no less than three times during lecture.

The door slid open, but the room was dark. No outline of Galen on the bed. He almost turned to leave, to go down to the research center, but then he saw the faint light coming from the refresher they shared on the far side of the room. "Galen?" He called, stepping in and turning on the overhead light.

He could smell the strong smell of liquor now, invading his nostrils, and quickly shut the door behind him. He walked to the bathroom, banging a fist on the durasheet. "Galen?" But the only response was a faint noise from within. He pushed the door open, it wasn't locked, but stopped at the sight in front of him. The smell, unlike the whiskey that Krennic himself favored and kept in his shoes, was vodka, nearly half a bottle gone and the container held suspended in Galen's fingers that lolled on the rug.

His eyes were closed, his dark hair had the ends wet with sweat, plastered to his forehead. His uniform, normally almost as pristine as Krennic's, was unbuttoned, KRennic suspected because he had gotten to hot. "Galen?" He said, for a moment worried that his roommate was dead.

But his friend's head rolled to the side to look at him, and now KRennic could see that his eyes were red and swollen. He had been crying, sobbing actually it seemed like, but now his face was back to it usual expressionless demeanor, albeit a drunk sort of expressionless, with unfocused eyes.

"Galen, what the hell?" He stepped into the bathroom, taking the vodka away and setting it on the sink, noticing Galen's comm sitting on the rug next to him. "Get up." He said, pulling on his arm. Galen didn't move. "Galen, get up." But nothing but the small groan, his eyes shutting again.

He started to pull him, his friend not only larger than he was, but almost completely dead weight. "Leave…leave me..." He heard Galen finally slur into his ear. "Orson…leave." But he kept pulling, eventually getting him to his feet. He grabbed his shoulders, turning his head to face him.

"Galen, what happened?" No answer. "What happened?" But his head lolled. "Galen." It was no use, whatever had happened, Galen was not going to be able to tell him at the moment. He started to pull him into their room, where he could lay him on his side on the bed, where he could pass out and not hurt himself.

"No." His friend tried to pull back, barely raising his voice, but eventually he complied, falling down onto the bed. Krennic propped him up on his pillow, going back to the refresher to straighten the rug, get the vodka. He looked down, reaching to close a fist over the standard issue comlink. To be honest, he hadn't even known Galen had a comlink, he had never seen him make or receive any communications on it in the long in the time they had lived together, knowing that he usually choose to answer messages through his datapad in words. But there it was, proof that Galen did have some sort of connection to the outside world after all.

He looked over at Galen, now half-asleep but mumbling to himself, angled so that if he threw up, it would end up in the garbage and not clog his throat. He knew he shouldn't look at the communications, that they were Galen's business. But since he had just carried him from their refresher floor to bed, heavy with alcohol, he thought it might be in his rights.

He thumbed through it, minimal contacts even listed. The scholarship, the school line, a contact listed simply as N. Erso. That was it. But there, also, was a message that was saved to the system. He sat on his bed, watching his friends face to see if he would wake up before he pressed the button to listen.

* * *

He blinked awake, right as light began to filter in through their small window. He was still sitting fully-clothed on the bed, and as he woke, the night came rushing back to him. Galen gone missing, the alcohol, the bathroom, the comlink. He sat up, his neck sore from leaning against the wall all night. He stretched, kicking off the shoes that he still wore, all before realizing that Galen's dark eyes were staring at him from across the room.

"You brought me in here." His voice was barely more than a rough whisper, and Krennic knew that his friend was in for one hell of a weekend morning.

"It was better than letting you die in the 'fresher." Krennic answered, rubbing his head.

"Did you listen to my message?" Krennic looked down at his bed, realizing that the comlink he had meant to return to the rug was lying on top of his blankets. He debated for a moment, whether or not to lie, but Galen would see through him.

"Yes." He said. "I'm sorry, Galen."

"It's okay." He answered, and Krennic watched his friends eyes close, even as he leaned forward to peel of his shirt, determined to go back to sleep soon. "You were curious." But he could hear the raw pain in Galen's voice. Not at Krennic having listened to his message, but in general. He was hurting.

"I shouldn't have done it." Krennic offered, but he could see silent tears rolling down Galen's worn face. "Are you going back for the funeral?"

"She would want me to stay here." He said resolutely. "And it is expensive to fly on short notice." He added, letting out a choked sigh that kept a sob at bay. "She is my family. I have not seen her in almost a year."

"It's alright, Galen." He thought briefly of his own family, and realized that while he felt sympathy for his friend, he couldn't empathize. He couldn't see himself making the trip to Lexrule if his mother passed, she wasn't that kind of woman and Krennic was starting to realize he wasn't becoming that kind of man.

"No." Galen said, and shook his head. "But I am sorry you found me like you did. I was not expecting the call."

"What happened?" Krennic asked, and despite his best effort, could feel his body starting to fully wake. He still reached for his sleep tunic in the vain hope he might get to use it.

"It came through a few minutes after you left. I didn't know what to do, I wanted to forget." That explained the vodka well enough to Krennic. "I started drinking and I just kept listening to it. I kept drinking until I couldn't hear it anymore and I couldn't remember what her face looked like."

Krennic was struck with the raw honesty of that. This was a Galen Erso that was giving him full self to the conversation. He had never lied, but there was difference in not lying outright and not offering up the whole truth. "Then I found you."

"Yes." Krennic slid off the bed, and, without real knowledge or provocation, sat down beside Galen on his. The tears were fresh, he smelled strongly of day-old alcohol and dried sweat. He needed a shower and help and to see someone who could no longer be seen. "I'll go with you, Galen. My father could send us a transport and we could be there this evening." He wasn't sure what made him offer it, and he had to look away from the look of both enormous vulnerability and gratitude that came across Galen's face.

Galen started to speak, but couldn't form words. Krennic nodded, reaching into his pocket. "It could be here in a couple of hours. We could shower, grab breakfast, and go."

"Orson, I cannot ask that of you. It is a lot of money…and time…"

"You aren't asking, I'm offering." Why he was offering was a mystery to him, but as he sat this close to Galen, he could feel that this was right. Comforting his friend, making him happy. "You're my best friend, Galen, let me help you."

Galen looked at him, unable to hide the pain still present in his gaze, but also unable to mask the care that mingled with it now. "I will go shower then." He sat up, facing Orson but looking down at the bed. "You're my best friend, Orson." He said, slowly, as if he had practiced the words. So much like their first conversations. "Someday, I will make this up to you. I promise."

And he stood, leaving Krennic to sit, staring at the bathroom door closing behind him. His heart was soaring, and his mind was whirring. He moved back to his own bed. Why did he care so much about Galen Erso? Why had it meant so much to hear him say he was his best friend as well? He had always prided himself on being above petty attachments. Trivial matters. This did not feel petty. Galen was not trivial. He laid down, pulling up the blanket as he heard the water start pumping, a few muffled sobs coming from the bathroom. He, Orson Krennic, had just offered a large chunk of his time and money and efforts to help a poor boy sobbing in their joint shower. Never, not once in the rest of his life, would he have ever thought that pertinent. There was no gain in this for him, why had he done this?

And yet, as he clicked in the order for the transport, he couldn't help but feel as if he had told himself wrong. There was something, not quite tangible, a benefit he couldn't see or touch or taste or hear. Only one he could feel, welling up in his chest before he closed his eyes and sleep crashed over him like wave.


	9. Chapter 9

**(A/N) Sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy! :D :D :D**

He sat quietly, his legs folded in front of him, wearing a black suit that gleamed brighter than anything he had seen since they arrived on the planet. It made him look, and feel, out of place here, where for once, Galen might have fit in easier. Except not.

His friend sat next to him, retreating into himself, his shoulders pulled tight, stretching the cloth of the outdated dark suit that he wore. Krennic had fallen asleep in the silence of the ship, and when he had woken, blinking away his disorientation, Galen had been already dressed across from him. He had been looking away, at nothing, but Krennic had seen the path of the tear that had run down his face. He was hurting, and despite his almost impassive demeanor, he was hurting now.

They had landed in the largest city on Grange, which was little more than a market. A landing platform big enough for two ships, a small market where there had been the very old and the very young had been selling what he assumed was extra crop yields and baby clothes he had seen draped over tent hangings. There had been an equipment store, with the aisles of new, gleaming farm equipment practically empty and the used section of rusted parts and faulty transmitters teeming with young people and parents who he had seen trying to keep them off the machines. Krennic had never seen so few people in a capital city, so little space. He had felt out of place, and, from the looks they were garnering form those who watched them fly in, they indeed were out of place.

That sentiment had not changed when they had arrived at the service. While the large population and limited land of Lexrule nearly mandated cremations, the same was not true for Grange. When they had come in, Galen's mother's body had been lying on a palette of woven grasses that Krennic could see stretched for the enormous spaces between the dotted lights that indicated the homesteads in the dark grey shade that seemed to hang over the entire planet except for when the brilliant sun pushed around the clouds, strong enough to sunburn someone like him rather quickly if he wasn't careful.

From the way people were acting around them, Galen was not exhibiting the usual behavior. Krennic watched as people, young, old, and in-between came up to the body, whispered short phrases and words moved their hands in gestures that he did not understand but could realize the significance of. Then, almost inevitably, their eyes would trail to Galen in the front row. Galen, who was no longer crying, and could not help but cringe away from the touch of people who it seemed had not seen him seen well before he had left all of this behind for Brentaal.

But, even though Krennic could see the confusion and even contempt written on some of their faces as they took him in, sitting in silence, Galen did not react. In fact, when a man grasped his shoulders in what Krennic knew was a gesture of comfort, he felt his friend press into his side, looking for safety and comfort in a place he might actually find it. This realization scared him. Perhaps more than anything up to that point, that he, a person who typically prided himself on being able to keep his distance from people, had become someone's comfort was almost beyond him. But he didn't move away, he spared a look at Galen, at the man who had caused him to move so suddenly in the first place, and then looked forward, watching as the rest of the tem milled by, Galen's presence never leaving his side.

They had still been sitting when the other farmers and their family had dispersed. They were sitting when night had come to this planet, and they were let along in the lingering darkness beyond the walls of the burial parlor. Only then had Galen moved. Krennic had sat completely still, watching him as he walked up to the woven palette and stood there in silence.

Krennic sat there, watching him, an impending sense of panic swelling in his chest for reasons he couldn't define. And then he watched as Galen faltered, his knees seeming to collapse under his weight as he fell to the ground his forehead pressed into the grass. He was shaking, forcefully, but no noise was coming out of him.

He was frozen for a moment, briefly looking around to see if anyone else was there, if some mysterious force was acting on Galen. But there was nothing. Only a heaviness in the air that was now thick with grief. Pain. Loss. It was starting to overwhelm him, and he had to stand, but for once he had no words.

His dress shoes tapping against the floor broke the silence and he moved to stand next to Galen who didn't move. He wasn't crying, in fact it was as though the shaking he was doing was entirely to try and repress the tears that were pushing at his eyes which he had shut tight. Krennic reached out and wrapped a hand over the curve of his shoulder, standing with him in silence.

He spared a glance at Galen's mother, dressed in what he assumed were her nicest clothes. They matched the level of nicety of Galen's, which were worn to the point of being almost ragged. Her face was lined with wrikles, exposure from working long days in the sun and rain and snow that he knew Grange was kin to. Her hair, what hadn't turned iron-gray was the same light brown as Galen's and framed a face that seemed stern, even in death, but at the same time was decorated with laugh lines by her eyes. Her hands, folded over her funeral dress, were weathered with work and age, no amount of funeral cleaning ever to remove all the bits of topsoil that had settled in her knuckles. But he could see they were soft. Kind hands that seemed to belong to a woman who had given everything to the boy who was on the ground beside him, both of them almost men.

Krennic wondered briefly if this woman would have enjoyed that her son was starting to spend so much time with him. Galen had scarcely mentioned her except when Krennic asked a direct question, and he was elusive in those as well. "I'm sorry, Galen." He half-whispered, and didn't move as Galen placed his opposite hand over Krennic's on his shoulder. He stayed like that for a moment, then his eyes reopened, and he stood. Level again with his friend.

His hand moved back, and Krennic watched, not understanding the odd language that he spoke which must be the source of the accent he had heard from most everyone who had attended the service, and moved his hands in the gesture he had seen so many perform. His hands moved from his mouth, to his heart, and then, in something that no one else had done, he touched that same hand to hers, curling his own fingers around hers.

"I am ready to go." He said, his voice heavy, but not in the same way. He turned to Krennic, as if almost daring him to say something else, to ask if he was sure, or say he might want to spend more time. Krennic knew better, and instead, just nodded in silence as they left the building and went back to the ship, the city closed down except for the run lights that dotted the landing platform and the elderly security guard who waved a wrinkled hand at them as the climbed back on board.

Days later, and Krennic was sitting on his bed. In front of him was a massive sheet of flimsi, large enough to allow him to make all the proper curves and additions to the design that he needed to fill the page with. It was one in a series of projects he was designing for the purpose of summer research: shortly after his and Galen's exhausting return from Grange, he had received the news that his grant had been approved and he would be the youngest Republic Architect that had ever been hired. He was to design his own projects, choose other students to assist him with the design and development, and submit official designs for proposal at the end of the long break between terms. He knew better than to wait until then, and his mind was already filled with small building designs, most of which could be implemented on Brentaal at minimal cost to the Futures Program. A small price to pay to have state of the art facilities and the ability to brag that students at the school had completely designed the buildings on their own.

But these plans were becoming almost trivial to him. He wanted to design something large, something that would truly make a mark on the galaxy. As a person who understood the importance of climbing ladders, he knew this was a necessary step; but an exasperating one all the same. He was limited in scope, despite the fact that his fingers itched to draw things of a larger and larger scale, to define whole cities rather just buildings, to construct massive projects rather than the small ones that his grant guaranteed. But he would work with it, come to a consensus with whomever he chose to work with him, and when the time came, he would move on to larger things.

He moved over the page, smearing black ink on the sides of his hands, and filled in the boxes he had drawn with the numbers that would make it possible. He was so focused, so intent that he didn't notice when Galen came in the door and set his things down as he started to work at the desk. He didn't notice, in fact, until Galen spoke to him, "What are you working on?" He was startled enough that he dropped his pencil, letting the point snap against the paper in his surprise, but otherwise not showing it.

It was the first time Galen had initiated a conversation between them since they had returned from Grange. He blinked over at him, where he sat impassively at the desk, with pages of physics spread in front of him. "Projects for the end of term." He answered, and slid off the bed, stretching muscles he hadn't realized were tensing. Galen stood as well, matching his stance, leaning back on his bed. "Have you decided to work with Coburn?"

He could feel the tension that was always between then now. Other than that initial conversation, before they had ever gone to Grange, Galen had said nothing to him about it. Krennic couldn't help but feel that his friend was holding back, that he wasn't saying something that he needed to say.

"I have been offered a place working in crystallography instead." He answered. "I will be here between terms."

"I'll be here as well." Krennic said, and could feel that slight of relief in his chest, that feeling of knowing Galen would be here. An odd feeling, to be sure, but not a bad one.

"I know." Galen said, and there it was again. That slight feeling that Galen was off-kilter. As if he was holding his tongue when he wanted to speak something strong.

He was about to ask, unable to deal with the suspense any longer, but Galen cut him off. "Orson," He said, his voice thick with some emotion. "I have been thinking of what to say." His ears turned their typical red, spreading down from his ears to his face.

"About what, exactly?" He could sense the pauses in Galen's words. The encouragement that he needed.

"I never thanked you properly." He said, and his gaze fell from Krennic's. "I was able to go home because of you." He put his hand over his lips. "I did not know what to say."

"It's fine, Galen." And it was, truly. Beyond that initial level of mystery to himself as to why he had done it, taking Galen to Grange had been fine. Emotional, yes. Affecting of his sleep schedule, yes. But fine just the same. In fact, there was some small part of him that was happy he had been able to help.

"It was too much," He was looking at him again. "Too Expensive. Your time. There was too much happening, Orson." His eyes were staring at him, his eyes spread wide with confusion and almost worry.

"Galen," He leaned up, and reached out a hand to rest it on Galen's shoulders. "It was fine." Galen didn't look as if he believed him, but Krennic gave what he knew was a reassuring smile that seemed to settle the worry. "And we're back now."

"Yes," Galen said, and nodded, Krennic still amazed he hadn't shrugged his hand off of his shoulder. "And I will make it up to you."

Krennic didn't say anything, knowing better than to deny it, or say that Galen didn't have too, because somewhere in his mind, Galen would have to in order for things to be right again. There was nothing, then, that he could say to change that fact. He moved his hand off Galen's shoulder, down to his bicep, and gave it a slight, reassuring squeeze.

Galen looked almost on the verge of tears again, and Krennic pulled him into a hug. For moment, nothing happened, and he almost let go, before Galen's arms came around him as well. He patted him on the back, letting the warmth of him hold him in place before he pulled back. The look of sadness was gone, replaced by something else in Galen's eyes, undercut by a small smile that Krennic mirrored.


	10. Chapter 10

Krennic opened his eyes, sitting up in his bed. He was breathing hard, and could feel the sweat in a sheen over his body. The room was still dark, and a glance at the chrono told him that it was still a couple of hours before he and Galen were due to wake to get ready for class. He could feel the flush of his features, and looked over to see Galen turned away from him, deep in sleep.

He let out another breath, running his hands over his face with a long breath in an effort to get his body to calm down and allow him to go back to sleep. He felt his face redden, as reminders of the dream that had woken him in this state came back into his mind.

It had been mostly images, physical feelings that mirrored those from reality, things that he had not known his brain would dare to imagine while awake. He was struck by the almost pure feelings that had been behind it, strong feelings that again he would never dare to show and could never remember allowing himself to think beforehand.

 _Galen had looked at him as he had stepped into the research lab, his face obscured by those glasses he always insisted on wearing. But he had smiled, the melancholy look that Krennic was used to seeing on his features gone. "Hello," He said, and climbed down off of his stool. In a feeling that felt like a mirror from their earlier embrace, only this time without the lingering of guilt or sadness, Galen wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. "Come see what I've finished." He said, pulling back to look Krennic in the eye through his glasses, keeping their bodies pressed together with his arm until he pulled back to pull him along._

" _It's incredible." He heard himself say, though in his mind, he was not looking at the work in front of them and he knew it. He was looking at Galen, who's face twitched with the praise, his hands moving to pull the goggles off. He smiled that shy smile of genuine happiness, and Krennic knew what he was going to do before he ever did it. He put a hand up to Galen's face, tracing the sharp cut of his cheekbone for a moment before that small smile and happy eyes turned to him and they leaned in together for a kiss that exploded something deep within him. There was no resistance from Galen, who pull him in closer, deepening the kiss until Krennic pulled back, breathing hard, turning them suddenly to press Galen back against the table, kissing him again. And again and again until he could feel weathered hands pulling at his uniform and the beginning of a whispered phrase that had been so shocking the scene had stopped._

And now he was awake, letting a hand drift over his lips at the thought of a memory that wasn't real. Why had this happened? He looked again at Galen, still sleeping, and quickly turned away himself to face the wall. He had not seen this coming. To be sure, he had many indiscriminate partners in his time here: men, women, it didn't matter. He had even had dreams like this about faceless people, phantom touches, but never with that level of emotion that he had felt. Never enough to make him wake feeling slightly guilty but also as if he had just one some grand prize or promotion, enough to leave his face flushed, still aroused with the thought of where that dream might have been headed, but also a deep worry that Galen might notice something, and an unanswered question of when this all had started.

He pulled his blanket up over his head, letting his heart rate slow down and let the world dissolve again into dreams as he closed his eyes.

The next morning, when he woke, Galen was already gone. He had taken to rising early and going to lab when sleep did not come easy to him, and Krennic was almost relieved he wasn't in there. But that didn't stop him from being in Statics later that morning.

"Good morning." He said, as Krennic sat down, his datapad lit up with details of the reading from the night before.

"Morning." Krennic said, but even to him the word sounded odd. Was that all he was going to say? But what else should he say? Absolutely nothing, because that of course, was what Galen knew about all of this. To Galen, he was the same person he had been the day before, and that was how it had to remain. For Krennic's sake, perhaps more than Galen. As time wore on, he was starting to see more and more potential in Galen, buried under a façade that he didn't think his friend even knew was putting on. They could do great things together.

At that thought, his face flushed again, and he pressed his stylus to his lips. "Are you alright?" But he was spared answering by the professor's arrival and instead pretended to concentrate on what he was supposed to be learning that day. But his mind wondered, a rare experience for him, and it strayed right to the man he wished it wouldn't, who kept flicking and changing the colors of his pen so quickly that it seemed like part of the lecture.

What he had been about to say to him? In his mind, he knew what it was, but now that he was awake and he and Galen were engaged in no such activities, it all seemed very distant. He tried to think of the last time he had told someone that, and he thought that it might have been to an elderly woman with gnarled hands who also pressed down on his head and flattened his hair and offered him small bits of his favorite sugar candy in order to pacify him while she kept the home she occupied on Lexrule spotless. He had said it to her, he remembered, right before he had started his regular schooling, and he had known then that he hadn't meant it, but it had garnered him an extra cookie to take home after a pair of leathery lips had planted a kiss on his cheek. He hadn't meant it then, and he couldn't imagine saying it to anyone now.

But his gaze slipped to Galen, who was concentrating hard beside him, his lips flicking up and down at what the professor said as his hand moved almost as fast as his mind recording lecture notes. And he gave himself a brief second to imagine saying it before he physically shook his head and didn't allow himself to finish the thought.

The end bell came far too slowly for him, and he stood in a flourish to pack his bags, realizing he hadn't actually taken any notes. "Would you like to get lunch?" He heard Galen say, right as he was ready to make his escape. When he looked up, Galen's dark eyes looked almost fearful, but Krennic couldn't help the small leap of happiness that was tempered with the slightest twinge of fear. "If you have plans, we could eat some other time." He added after a moment of silence.

"Let's eat." Krennic said, "Sorry, I was a bit distracted." Galen cocked his head at him, offering up a small smile that seemed more and more common, Krennic realized, as they spent more and more time together. That thought again made him happy, with his characteristic red blush climbing up his neck that he quickly tried to cover with his hand. Galen was comfortable around him, not something he could say for any other person in this program. It was endearing, really. And would have given him a sort of morbid satisfaction that he had Galen Erso, obvious genius, to basically himself if he hadn't bene so damn afraid of his own feelings.

Feelings, he realized, that might get in the way.

"Do you think you could explain that last concept to me, Galen? I missed the notes." He friend nodded dutifully, and to Krennic's relief stopped looking at him as they walked to instead start running figures through his head.


	11. Chapter 11

Galen had a problem. Not the type of problem he usually encountered, where his head was able to work through figures with ease and without trepidation. No, this was a different sort of problem altogether, one he had never before encountered and had not forseen.

He let out a sigh, pressing his head forward into his hands as he sat at his desk. He had been looking at this problem set for the better part of the last hour, but for once in his life, he had found himself unable to concentrate. He knew what it was. It was becoming more and more obvious the longer he thought through it and the more times it reared its head when he was alone, the more powerless he was against it.

At least Orson was gone for the evening. Since their trip to Grange almost seven standard days before, and their very strange lunch four days before when Orson had barely spoken and had listened even less, Orson had behaved very oddly. Galen frowned to himself at the thought that Orson might have been avoiding him, ducking out of the room at odd times when Galen would be there; waking early and leaving with only a short word or phrase, sitting next to him in class but almost going out of his way to not speak to him. Galen was worried that he might have done something to bother him, but in all truth, having a little space between Orson and himself might be for the best. Orson was the source of his problem.

He had realized something the week before. When his normal inhibitions had been tempered by the blur of the vodka he had nearly drowned himself with, his whole self aching for some sort of affection, Orson had been there. Had helped him. Had cared. His face, always calm, had been fraught with worry that Galen could see etched into his normally smooth features. He reached a hand to his shoulder, the feeling of Orson's fingers pressing against him as he kneeled by his mother's side still lingering in his thoughts. This was the problem. Orson was the problem.

He was occupying his thoughts far more than any typical friend should. Not that Galen considered himself to have a lot of experience in the area of friendship, in fact, he would consider himself a novice at it. He had always preferred the quiet that isolation offered, a quiet that was now filled with thoughts that he should not have been having. Thoughts that made him smile involuntarily with the feeling of genuine happiness that stemmed from, or other thoughts that had him blushing and glancing around, wondering if others could see what he was thinking. All of these thoughts, innocent or not as they were, revolved around his roommate, for whom he knew he had a growing affection.

He had tried to lend it to their simple proximity, living in the same room he was bound to get closer to Orson. But he had noticed a change in himself, his behaviors were very peculiar, even to him. The quiet did not offer the same peace it always had, he found his thoughts wondering to what Orson was doing or thinking as opposed to the problems at hand. He had begun talking more, wanting to know what his friend was doing, his thoughts and cares, his simple movements throughout his day. He had begun spending less time on crystallography and more time reading architecture texts so that he could have complex conversations and watch Orson's face light up and hear his accent thicken as he started to talk about a subject he was fully invested in. It was almost frightening, these changes.

And another he had noticed, almost subtle but one he caught himself doing with greater and greater frequency. His caught himself watching Orson's lips, his fingers, his eyes as he talked and spoke and took notes during class. He would catch himself with his eyes fixed on Orson chewing on his pen, twisting the end between his teeth or tapping it against his lips. The whole situation played into the thoughts that his brain conjured up when he would let it. How it might feel to run the pad of his thumb over Orson's lips, or feel his hands with their almost abnormally large fingers run through his hair, how a simple kiss to his lips might taste, might feel against his own. He shook his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes. He could feel his ears heating up with their usual blush at those sort of thoughts and knew that if Orson was there, he would have noticed. He didn't know where Orson was, and he looked up, hearing the faint sounds of loud music coming from the room above him.

He stood right as the door opened and he was face to face with his grinning roommate. Given what he had just been thinking, his blush attacked his face, but if Orson noticed, he didn't mention it as he held Galen's gaze and slowly grinned. It took a few seconds, but Galen realized that the far-off look in his roommate's eyes and the slight stumble as he slid the door shut was the product of a lot of alcohol.

"Galen!" He said, and sounded the happiest to see him that he had all week.

"Hello." Galen said, taking in Orson's appearance. He didn't have the impeccable ability to read people that his roommate based his social interactions on, but there were many things happening that were obvious, even to him. "Have you had a good evening?"

Orson laughed, his full laugh that had him covering his mouth to keep form looking what he would consider foolish. Galen couldn't help but smile, the laughter too happy to ignore. But as he looked over his roommate, he couldn't help but feel a pang of something else. His clothes were loosed, as if they had been pulled back on recently. When his arm moved back away, a large red mark was appearing on the side of his neck, common evidence of Orson's nocturnal carousing of which he was so fond.

"How was yours?" Krennic stepped in what Galen supposed was supposed to be a graceful manner, bit it wasn't, getting another self-directed laugh from Orson before he opened his eyes wide and looked at Galen.

"It was fine. I was working on statics work."

"Galen." Orson said. "Galen, Galen, Galen." And then he was laughing again, laying back on the bed, his upper body sprawled.

"Yes?" He asked, covering his own mouth with his hands as he smiled broadly. One thing he had noticed after coming here, all of the children who came to this school, Orson Krennic included, had perfectly straight teeth. His were not, but other than the occasional scoffing comment from people he did not know, no one had brought it up. Including Orson, who he thought might actually enjoy that Galen was not a carbon copy of everyone else, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"What are we, Galen?" He said, and suddenly there were two large blue eyes looking at him through a mass of elongating curly hair. After a moment of silence, he smiled, "Hmmm?"

Galen wasn't sure what to say. He could feel his ears betraying him again, but was determined not to give evidence of what he was realizing were deep-rooted feelings. "We are friends, of course." His mind was filled with what he knew were inappropriate and terribly timed thoughts, but he couldn't help them as they rushed into his brain.

To his surprise, Orson frowned at him, and sat up, shaking his head at the sudden rush of motion. "Is that all?" He asked, and slid of the bed.

"We're also roommates," Galen said slowly, as Orson moved towards him, seeming to be almost sizing him up with his eyes that were too clear to betray his inebriation. "You're my best friend." Galen added after a long moment of silence, and Krennic smiled the half-smile that meant for sure he was happy but also hiding something he was thinking.

Galen stood completely still as Orson leaned onto him unexpectedly, the love bite he had gotten from a stranger at the club he frequented hidden from Galen's view as he pressed his head to Galen's chest, his hands on his shoulders as he laughed. "Am I?" Orson said. He mumbled something under his breath that had Galen blushing, a question on his lips that he didn't ask. Instead, he resisted the urge to pull Orson closer, to turn his intoxicated friend leaning on him for support into an embrace that might mean there really was something between them. Instead, he enjoyed the feeling of Orson's fingers pulling the fabric on his shoulder into a bunch in his fist, the feeling of him laughing into his chest, leaning further into him as he started to come down from his drunk high and grew more and more tired.

In fact, he still thought about the feeling a few minutes later when Orson had climbed back into his own bed with his clothes still on, turned on his side away from Galen as he drifted into sleep. He unconsciously ran a hand over his lips, then realized he was doing it, and turned on his own side. He closed his eyes, running their very strange conversation back through his head. Perhaps he should have told him, there had been a moment where he was sure he could have and Orson might have said it back. But the moment was gone, and he knew that it was more than likely just the alcohol and why anyone would be interested in him that way, let alone Orson who could have anyone in the school if he wanted, he couldn't comprehend.

But Orson's mumbled, disguised in Galen's shirt and by his own laughter, came to his thoughts as sleep claimed him with happy visions. "Am I?" He said had said loudly. "Is that all?" He had whispered right after.


	12. Chapter 12

**(A/N) Thank you to my consistent reviewer for your consistent reviews! They make my day every time and I am glad you like the story! Thanks to all other reading, please R and R! Hope you enjoy!  
**

"You should drink more." Orson was slurring at him, his head leaned back on the plain walls of their room. It was better, Galen supposed, than him continuing to play with the star projection map that was next to his bed. At least this way, Galen could see consistently to read. "It might make you feel better."

"I do not feel bad." Galen insisted, looking up from the charts he was marking. He had spent the week investigating Jedi lore and in particular, their prolonged use of kyber to construct their lightsabers. There was an incredible amount of ceremony, and it seemed they had almost a monopoly on the resource, but he was hopeful, and being able to mark the supplies on the charts his professor had given him was a relief.

"You don't look happy," Orson was grinning at him, even when slightly inebriated, he had an uncanny ability to read anyone when it might be useful. The alcohol simply kept him from holding back as much as he usually did. A little less careful, perhaps, but still impeccably observant.

"That does not mean I am sad." Galen said again, and Orson laughed silently, covering his mouth with his hands. Galen quickly looked away, his ears burning again, wishing his eyes hadn't focused for a second too long on Orson's fingers.

"No." And Orson continued laughing, fueled by whiskey. He had gone out every night of the weekend, every weekend since that first week Galen had been worrying he was avoiding him. He had come to the room in the wee hours of the morning one time to see a dark, unfamiliar shape in Orson's bed that had disappeared by the time he woke up the next morning to an apology breakfast, courtesy of his roommate, who was receiving the food delivery shirtless when Galen woke up. He had quickly looked away, even as Orson had turned to him, slight bruising over his collarbone, his neck reddened from his nocturnal company, and his lithe form distracting to Galen that early in the morning. "I suppose not."

Galen was happy that Orson no longer seemed to be avoiding him, though this was the first night he hadn't returned from the club and immediately gone to bed or the shower, smelling of sweat and cigarette smoke with only a few words to Galen between. He said nothing for a few minutes and Galen couldn't help but let out a small sigh as the lights went down and the star chart appeared between them in the dark room.

"Here's where I'm from." Orson was speaking for the first time he had pulled it up, and Galen looked up at him. He had a strange look on his face, slightly flushed with heat from the alcohol, the top button of his shirt undone for the same reason. "It doesn't look nearly as important when you can see everything else, too."

Galen's eyes left Krennic face to focus on Lexrule. He was right, it seemed an insignificant dot spread among many insignificant dots, glinting gold while other dots glowed blue or green or red or silver. It was easy enough to find Brentaal, which was covered in a red haze, and Grange, though he had no intention of returning there soon, with its green overtones. "Lexrule has many things to offer." Galen tried to defend it, and he was being truthful. The ore deposits had leant themselves to a large mine and trade economy that had turned it from a relatively insignificant outpost to a booming center of galactic trade. But Orson was shaking his head.

"I'm sure it does in the archives." He said, and he stood to seemingly look more closely at it, "I hate it." He added softly, the slurred edge of his words gone as he stood on suddenly wobbly legs. His face was hardened as it was taken by some memory Galen did not understand. He looked almost…anguished.

"Orson, are you alright?" He asked, and set aside his charts to stand up.

"How important is it, Galen?" He asked, his blue eyes glinting in the light that came off the small projected planets. "Where you're from?"

"Not very." Galen said, nodding his head. If it mattered so much, he would spend his future farming wheat germ for people who would never bother to come see where their food came from, he was not ready to live that life.

"Do we only think that because we're from unimportant places?" Orson said, letting out a laugh that was tinged with drunken honesty and a complete absence of humor. His eyes wondered back to Lexrule. "I wonder if they know how much I hate them." He said, the defiance that Galen sometimes heard pushing through his voice as his eyes glinted.

Galen felt a prickle of something run along the back of his neck. Almost fear from the accosted look in Orson's eyes as he glared at the gold light of his home planet. "Orson?" He said softly, realizing how out of palce this was for his friend, who rather showed any emotion other than mild amusement. Galen was parlay to something deeper on occasion, genuine excitement when he was working through his architectural plans, the empathy he had given to Galen when he had them driven to Grange in his father's transport months before. But this was different, without provocation.

"My family." He said flatly, the drunken tinge almost gone from his words, but the flush still there on his features that glowed in the dim light. "My mother and father." He elaborated. "He let out another dry laugh. "It's alright. They hate me too." It was pain in his voice, and Galen was beginning to worry that Orson might be cracking.

"Did something happen?" Galen said, knowing there was more to the story.

"Nothing unusual." Orson replied. "We're not like them, Galen." And he reached out a hand to set it on Galen's shoulder. His eyes were glittering with defiance and pain and triumph, an odd mixture from a normally emotionless man. "And they will always think us lesser for it."

Galen swallowed, moving his eyes between the planet and Orson's own eyes, both captivating in their own right. "Until we prove them wrong." There it was, that prickle of fear that this time moved up his spine at the almost cold tone Orson had. But it was offset by the hand that had moved from his shoulder to barely along the outer ridge of his next. Orson's eyes moved to be fixed on him.

"They can say all they want about where we're from." Orson said softly, his hand moving again to trace the strong curve of Galen's jaw. He could feel his heart beating faster, thrumming in his chest. Months almost of feeling such a strong pull to the man in front of him, and now he could hardly breathe. He didn't dare speak for fear of what he might say, selfishly worried that Orson might stop talking, might stop whatever it was he planning on doing. "They don't understand what we're capable of."

His thumb moved across Galen's chin, then back towards his own fingers. His ears were burning, the blush flooding down to his face as Orson gave him a genuine grin for the first time, seemingly happy in his pronouncement. "I find you intriguing, Galen Erso."

"I don't know what to say." And he was at a loss for words. What did that mean? What was happening? What was Orson feeling? Was it that connective defiance, stemming from whatever cruel words had driven him back to Galen instead of to some stranger's apartment that night? Was it ease of access and the taint of alcohol affecting his decisions, or some genuine form of affection? Was it the manifesto of the same sort of attachment and feelings that had been sitting in Galen's stomach and heart and mind for what seemed like the majority of his life? Was it simple friendship, their own brand of such that seemed to operate well beyond the realm of what others might consider friendship, or was it something more?

"Do you find me intriguing?" Orson asked, and the defiance changed briefly to vulnerability. Galen blushed again, his face matching the deep red of Orson's own face.

"Yes." He whispered, his eyes cast down so that it was a surprise when Orson's lips connected with his own, when his friend tugged on his jaw so that he would turn his head, his blue eyes closing. He moved on instinct, one hand wrapping around him, another threading through Orson's long hair as he tried his best simply to savor the moment and ignore the hints of whiskey on Orson's potentially confused tongue and the prickle of fear that Orson's words had pushed through him.


	13. Chapter 13

He was going crazy. Not the kind of crazy that people assumed him to be, when he spent his nights laboring over crystals and writing forumlas and correcting professors who didn't understand silence near as well as they thought they did. No, he was going genuinely insane, trapped inside of his own head for the time being, with no one to speak to except the one person he couldn't.

He stabbed at his salad with his fork, sitting in the booth in the back of the dining hall, keeping his dark eyes fixed on Orson, who sat with his usual gaggle of admirers. He was laughing, in the midst of telling some story that Galen was sure was either one he had heard or a somewhat falsified account of actual events. Either way, he couldn't stop watching, a thousand things playing through in his mind. It had been three days.

Three days since Orson had told him his feelings about his parents. Three days since Orson had tied them inexplicably together because of their other-ness that seemed to aid in Galen's ease of being a social pariah and hurt Orson's chances of advancing easily. Three days since he had told Galen he found him intriguing. Three days since he had kissed him in their room, pulling him close, into an embrace that had felt genuinely intimate. A dangerous thing, he knew, for Orson Krennic who tried his best to act a persona. To everyone but Galen, whose chest he had placed his forehead on after their kiss, breathing heavily. Galen, who had held him close and had wanted to kiss him again but had waited. Galen, who hadn't pushed it the next morning when he had woken up with a slight hangover and had just wanted to shower instead of talking. Galen, who was watching him now with confusion, and, thought he kept his face passive, hurt.

Ober the course of the past three days, Orson hadn't mentioned it. And Galen knew he remembered because hehad apologized for continually turning the star charts on and off and had looked at Galen as though he expected him to say more. Which he hadn't. He wasn't sure what to do, exactly. He realized that the bite he had been chewing for the better part of two minutes was practically sludge in his mouth and swallowed it, sighing visibly as Orson still did not look his direction. Galen considered himself a novice on friendships, they hadn't been a real necessity on Grange, though he could recall friends of his parents making the long travel to the farm on occasion. He remembered being petrified by them when he was little, not understanding why they had needed to speak to people he did not know.

So while friendship held its own concerns, Galen also knew nothing about how to approach a relationship of any romantic inclination. He looked away from Orson, his ear tips glowing red, and began to look at his data pad to distract himself. If he was being honest with himself, which he always was, it had been his first kiss. He had decided not to count the one a girl his age had given him at the market on Grange once: one because he did not know her or return it, and two, since she had run away immediately to a group of giggling friends, he was certain it had been a dare. This was not a dare, or a joke, or anything but potentially serious. And yet, Orson had not mentioned it.

He shut his datapad, dumping the rest of the salad in the garbage since he was truly in no mood to eat, and left the cafeteria. He paused at the door, turning slightly to spare Orson a glance to see if his friend had finally noticed him or not. And, to his surprise, his face turning red, there was a pair of bright blue eyes looking back at him from several tables over, a slight smile on his face. He pulled the door open and shuffled out of it, shaking his shoulders to let go of the trepidation that had come with the intensity of that stare.

He was in the room for less than half an hour when the door opened. He looked up from the bed to see Orson standing there, a half smile, half cautious look on his face. "Hello, Galen."

"Hello." He answered, and watched as the door shut behind him roommate. "Did you need something?"

Orson cocked his head, letting some of his teeth actually show in a half smile. "Yes, actually." He answered, leaning back on his bed. "I need to speak with you."

Galen felt his pulse quicken, memories of three nights before invading his brain. The lips that were now smiling on him pressed against his own, Orson's hands, now folded over his own arms threading through his hair and around his back, the taste of whiskey and spun sugar taffy that he knew Orson kept a drawer full of on his side of the room. "Okay." He said, nodding slowly, willing his mind to slow down for once so that he didn't mess whatever this was up. "Is something troubling you?"

"Do I seem troubled, Galen?" Galen shook his head, confused by the question. "I'm not. I'm a bit concerned though."

"About what?"

"I remember the other night, in its entirety." Galen sucked in a sharp, but hopefully quiet breath. He nodded, letting his eyes shut for a long moment before reopening them to Orson's sharp gaze on his. "Can I sit?" He gestured to the half of the bed that Galen never sat on, waiting on his nod before he joined him, leaving his shoes on the floor. He sat back against the wall, looking straight ahead instead of at Galen. "I'm sorry, Galen, if its not what you wanted."

"No." Galen said, nodding to reassure him, planning to continue, but Orson placed a hand on his forearm to keep him quiet.

"I could lie to you and say I wasn't thinking, or I was drunk, or I was lonely, but I know you'd see right through that." His voice had dropped to be completely even, a monotone that gave nothing away. "I find you intriguing, Galen. Fascinating really, moreso than any person I have ever met.."

"Why?" Galen could eel his face burning, knowing Orson hadn't expected the interruption. "There are others…"

"You have a beautiful mind." Orson said, so matter-of-fact that Galen couldn't help but believe him. "But you have a soul under all of it." He turned on the bed, his hand still on Galen's arm, but moving to his chest, resting over his heart. "You are kind while others are cruel. They live their lives for petty details and recognition. You live yours for work and to help others."

Galen tried to keep his breathing under control, tried to process what Orson was saying even though it was becoming increasingly difficult at such close proximity with his stare boring into him and Orson's hand pressed against his heartbeat. "I don't understand you fully." Orson said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I wish that I could, and maybe that is the cause of all this."

He let his hand fall back to his own knee, looking past Galen to look at nothing. "I'm sorry for not bringing this up sooner, Galen. Truly." He paused, but Galen didn't speak, words not coming to his brain or his mouth. He only swallowed, fearful of what Orson might say next. "I'm sorry for seeming to avoid you, for not wanting to talk, but I needed to sort things out for myself first."

"It is alright." And Orson's eyes were back on him, and he gave a small smile of what might have been amusement. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and Galen wondered if Orson was expecting something from him. Something he didn't know who to give.

"If this isn't what you want, Galen…"And he couldn't bear to let the thought finish. Finally, for someone who had spent their whole life letting their mind run free and not saying every thought that spilled through his mind, he couldn't let this one conversation finish.

Instead, he reached up a hand to Orson's face and kissed him mid-sentence before he had time to question it again. He could hear his kyber charts being crushed between them and wished he cared more at the moment. If Orson was surprised, it lasted only for a moment, and Galen found himself being pressed back against the wall as one kiss turned into two, then three, then four, then a dozen. As the bitter taste of uncertainty faded into a gentle lull of happiness when Orson' broad fingers moved over his shirt, the feeling of his hands on his torso, even over his clothes, better than what his mind had conjured up in that odd time between sleep and waking.

How long they stayed like that, he wasn't sure. Long enough that when he opened his eyes again as Orson moved to kiss a place on his neck instead of his lips, that the light that had been filtering through the window had faded completely to darkness. He didn't wrap his arms around Orson, letting him rest his head on his shoulder for a moment, catching his breath.

"We should do homework." Galen said, as an afterthought, and Orson pulled back from him, laughing so much that he had to cover his mouth with his hand like he did when he was embarrassed.

"Really, Galen?" He said, moving his body away to lean back against the wall. "Is that what you were thinking about?"

Galen blushed, from his ear tips down to the red spot on his neck that throbbed right over his pulse, and said nothing. He reached for the charts that Orson had pushed away from them both, flattening them out with his hands, careful not to cut along the calluses that had formed there while he had worked the fields and then the labs. "No." He said, glancing over to see Orson smiling at him with an odd look on his face. Or, perhaps it was only odd because Galen had only seen it once or twice etched into his features. Genuine happiness. Not the drunk revelry that came with whiskey, or the happiness that came with guilt-free sex with strangers, but a strong, lasting happiness across his normally fettered features. "What?" He could feel heat rising in his face again.

"You're just interesting," Orson said, and placed his hand over Galen's before he stood again. "Galen," And he waited until Galen had looked up again. "We can take this slowly. However you like." Galen nodded reaching for his pen.

"I am not sure I would call this slowly, but I agree." Orson laughed again, covering his mouth and watching Galen who managed this time to give him an unblushing smile.

"Let's work then," Orson agreed, climbing back onto his own bed. "And see what tomorrow brings."


	14. Chapter 14

Orson took to a habit of waking up before Galen did. He wasn't sure what had caused it, probably because Galen had long been in the habit of taking long strolls long after others had gone to sleep. He could hear him, even in the midst of sleep, slip quietly out of their room when his mind became overwhelmed and his body needed to compensate. It made him think fondly back at the time he had met Galen outside, looked at the galaxy well beyond them a long time before any of this had happened. How things had changed.

But now he woke, drank cups of diluted caf because he hated the taste, and would leave to find somewhere for a few moments of solitude before his day began. There was a certain freedom in hearing only minute shuffling behind closed doors while he was fully dressed and ready for what the day might being. He hoped that it lent to his image of well-preparedness and allowed for people to see what potential he had when they all climbed their way out of the program. He, as of late, had been thinking less and less about them. They were become something lesser than beings to him.

They were connections. They were links to greater goals, pots of money, steep ambitions. He found himself wanting to be around them less and less, though even he had to admit they were better nightclub company than Galen, and instead of effort, his whole routine of showing at least vague interests in their ideas was becoming second-nature to him. It was always a sigh of relief when he would make it back to his and Galen's suite, shutting the door to them and everyone else behind him to be open with the one person in the entire godforsaken school he was certain wasn't an idiot.

But he had come this far already, and would not give up all the hard fought networks he had created simply because of slight annoyance. The day would come when he wouldn't have to look at them anymore and he could simply pursue his own goals without their interests in mind. Today, however, was not that day and as a sophomore Governor's son stuck his head out of a doorway to call his name in Hello, he forced his knitted smile back to his face and did what he needed.

It was an odd schedule day, he and Galen had no classes together, but both were planning to be in the research facilities by chance that evening. He was amazed with himself for looking forward to it so much. He couldn't truly remember the last time he had felt genuinely excited for other than his pending internship which was beginning to loom over him. He had told his father, who had spoken gruff congratulations into the comm before passing it to his mother who had done much the same. They had wanted no details other than cost and scheduling, and he had been more than happy to provide those in the forty-five seconds that it took before they cancelled the communication. Sometimes, more often than he knew was healthy, he wondered why they had ever decided to have children to begin with. They seemed so cumbersome in general, and for two people who didn't like each other, sharing a being must have been its own kind of living hell.

He let classes pass by meaninglessly, taking detailed notes that earned him the admiration of a first year student who sat beside him who asked if might share his data file after class. He had, of course, and said he would be more than happy to share any others after a long conversation regarding the boy's mother who was a higher up in one of the Core World Banking Clans.

But that breath of relief came when he was able to shut the research lab door behind him, taking a moment to breathe out the false frustrations of the day before he ventured into the permeated darkness to find his roommate. His and Galen's relationship was morphing as they themselves were changing. Two weeks before, when they had shared their first kiss, it had seemed like something out of an odd dream to Orson. Three days later when he had pulled their bodies together, holding him close, tasting him, feeling him begin to settle under his skin, he had realized how deeply this might truly run.

He was experienced in this sort of thing, even on Lexrule when he had briefly been involved with an older woman who helped secure his place in the program (alongside his father's money). He knew the power that sex held over people, how physical intimacy was often connected with just how much they were willing to do for you. He had slept with many people, people he needed to sleep with and strangers he wanted to sleep with when the alcohol buzzing in his brain and the ache in his body had made it seem like a very good idea. This however, had proven itself to be very different.

With the others, it had been clear what his goals were. A single night, insurance for his future, something to forget when he should have been remembering. This was not the case with Galen. When Galen would reach across the small table they had taken to sharing for a few meals a week and place his hand over Orson's to keep it from tapping on the marble, he found himself craving the warmth after it disappeared. When Galen hadn't shaved in a couple of days because he had been too busy welding crystals together and the scruff of his face rubbed against Krennic's, he found himself enjoying the strange sensation. When things would start getting heavier and he would be tugging at Galen's worn tunic to feel his skin under his fingers, he found himself almost hurt when Galen would pull away.

For once in his life, there were actual emotions tied to this. It had occurred to him that perhaps that was how it should be. That it was very human to become tied to a person you shared things like this with, but that didn't mean he had ever done it. Three weeks and Galen had never tried to undress him, not even tugging at his boots. Three weeks and his friend, his lover, his roommate had not pressed him to have sex like all of the others had, he seemed perfectly content to wait. He had to admit that part of him missed those encounters, the rough passion, the haste of undressing someone, of a goodbye that had never really started with a hello. But this, he knew, had given him something different.

Like now, when he saw Galen perched over a set of two crystals, a small green flame extending from the torch in one and a pair of metal tongs held tight in the other, he smiled without realizing it. He smiled at Galen's ridiculous glasses that he was certain the man might wear outside of the laboratory if Krennic didn't give him such a hard time about them; he smiled simply for being in Galen's company.

"Hello." He said, setting his band and datapad down, pulling his own blueprint sheets from his bag so that he might work under the strange blue glow. He didn't ask if he could join Galen, he was certain that he wouldn't refuse him, or perhaps, though he would never admit it, he was afraid he would refuse him.

"Hello," Galen said, his accented voice sounding lifted at seeing Orson, but strangely off key. Krennic glanced up at him, trying to discern what the cause might be, but as per usual, Gale's face gave nothing away but his passion for the two crystals in front of him, finally joining together after what seemed like an infinite amount of waiting.

"Are you alright?" Galen said nothing this time, and Krennic was certain that something had happened. Something serious, even, with this kind of response. "Did something happen?"

"Yes." Galen let out a small sigh that he did whenever Krennic knew he was being pushy. "It is over now, though." And he moved the tongs as if indicating he genuinely did not want to speak anymore about it. So Krennic, always perceptive, said nothing else to him and instead began shading in the electric requirements for the recreation facility he was designing. It was one of the amenities the Brentaal program did not have, and one that the Republic would be financing under his supervision that summer. He had included space for all of things he would want: a swimming facility, military-grade training program spaces and equipment, an outdoor enclosure. If they followed his plans and recommendations for commodity financing, it would be a masterpiece and useful bit for the program.

Now he found himself deep in the calculations required to make the building operate properly. He knew there were students in the program that doubted his abilities, he could feel their whispers behind his back sometimes when he wouldn't do as well on an exam as he had anticipated, but he was also comfortable in the fact that they were very wrong about him. They hadn't seen his mind at work when it was calculating foundation estimates, or designing corridors that would appear large but conserve space. They hadn't seen his eyes for color in its mathematical applications of perception and size. Therese were things he was well aware that they would never understand. But, as was his usual state of mind, he was fine with being the only one to truly understand his own genius. There would come a day soon enough that others would realize it as well.

He felt Galen's eyes on his on occasion, the stare almost a physical presence in such a quiet room. It would happen most often when he would place his pen between his teeth, spinning it to try and reason out a final, unreachable number, or when he would run his hands through his now curly hair. He smirked a little at that, though Galen had never pressed him for more than what they were doing, he was certainly thinking about it. That, he could wait for.

He wasn't sure how they worked. He was on his third page of schematics when his stomach was threatening to tear a hole it itself from being empty since the early lunch he had taken that morning before afternoon lecture and study hall. He looked at Galen, who, at his gaze, released the cap trigger that kept the small green flame burning. "Why don't we go get something to eat?" Galen asked, a hint of humor under his still troubled tone.

Krennic huffed a small sound of agreement, marking his place and rolling up his charts. He watched Galen, who he know noticed was short some equipment. "Where is your datapad?" He watched Galen's ears turn red as they usual did, that blush spreading down his as he cocked his head towards the garbage can. Krennic stood, pulling his bad around his shoulder, and looked into the bin to see Galen's outdated pad amongst the trash, the screen shattered into an unreadable web. "What happened?"

"It is nothing, Orson." Galen said, but now Krennic knew. Not who it was, of course, but that this wasn't an accident.

"It isn't nothing, Galen. How much work did you lose?"

"Only a slight amount. I keep most of my notes on paper." He said quickly. "Please, let's just go eat. I will deal with it later."

Krennic said nothing, knowing better than to push it. It was undoubtedly one of the complete idiots who inhabited the school who had done this. Galen wasn't well-known, mostly since he refused to speak to most people and they, in turn, did not take the time to approach him. He was a semi-outcast who would have lived on the complete periphery if not for his incredibly high grades. Top in the class in almost every class: math, science, politics. His ability to absorb and transform information was unmatched, and Orson knew there were some that would hate him for it. But this, this was extreme. He tamped his anger down, shouldering his bag as Galen put away his goggles before they walked out of the lab. It was dark again, the halls bustling with people returning to their rooms or going to the library to work. He hoped that dinner might still be open for them as they pressed through the halls in silence.

"There he is." The voices almost stopped Galen cold, but Krennic reflexively grabbed his arm to keep him moving forward. "He's a got a friend with him now."

"Yeah," Krennic heard another one, getting closer to them. "But who's he?"

"Probably another one of those scholarship pieces of…" Krennic stopped and spun around, two older, large human males almost running into him. His eyes bore into them as their sentence stopped. He extended a hand, flexing his fingers, "Orson Krennic." He said, but the older student didn't take it. "Can I help you with something?"

"I don't think so." And the one had been talking first put a hand on his chest, pushing him backwards so that he stumbled slightly. "Unless you can get your friend here to stop fucking up our curve."

"He wouldn't be if you weren't doing so badly to begin with," Krennic said, immediately realizing his mistake. But he was tired and hungry and angry at these idiots for destroying the one nice thing that Galen had been able to buy for himself.

"Orson." He heard Galen say, but it was too late to stop them really.

"What was that?" There was a crowd starting to collect around them. "You think we're stupid?" Krennic knew that in fact, they were not stupid. They had waited until Galen was alone to break his data pad, and now, they were about to try and fight him with no one but Galen to support. But the angry, unyielding Krennic won out of any hope of soothing the situation over.

"I didn't say it." He said, "You must have already been thinking it." And then a fist collided with his stomach on the last syllable and he was staggering backwards as the back of another hand connected with the side of his face to knock him to the ground. A heavy weight started to press on his chest as one of them climbed on top of him, throwing punches into his head and shoulders in odd intervals, some of which he blocked, and he even landed one on the boy's nose with a sickening cracking noise, watching blood fall from that onto his uniform in the seconds he could keep his eyes open.

It was getting harder to breathe, the weight pressing on his lungs making it almost impossible for him to catch his breath under the onslaught of attacks being pressed on his face. They came hard and fast, and he could taste blood in his mouth as his teeth cut against his check, he could feel it dripping on his face as his nose started to leak. He was starting to feel dizzy, the room spinning from lack of oxygen when suddenly the weight was gone. He gasped, head throbbing, and turned on his side to see both of his attackers crumpled to the ground, Galen standing over them without a scratch. The crowd around them was silent as Galen fell to his knees beside Krennic, moving his hair out of his face, and hoisting his hands under his arms to lift him to his feet.

"Orson," Galen said softly, but he still hadn't caught his breath, leaning heavily on his friend. His injuries were starting to throb, and he could hear the loudspeaker announcement to clear the halls. The two who had attacked them were starting to scramble to their feet, looking at Galen with almost fearful expressions before they took off to get away from the administration who was set to arrive. "Hold your nose, its bleeding."

He pulled what looked like a glove from his bag and handed it to KRennic who began to mop at the blood on the underside of his face, as the head administrator pushed through the crowd to get to them, bellowing for others to leave the scene behind.

Two hours later, and they were sitting in a restaurant not far from school grounds, eating an expenses-paid dinner since they had missed the opportunity for dinner by being assaulted in the hallway. After Krennic had gotten his nose and cheek to stop bleeding, the damage, except for some visible bruising, was mostly managed. Galen didn't have a scratch on him, and Orson was dying to know how he had taken them both down so easily.

"I didn't picture our first date quite like this, Galen." After Galen had not spoken since they had gotten their menus, he tried to lighten the mood. To his amusement, Galen's face reddened in the dim light of the restaurant, and he nodded his head in agreement.

"No." He said. "I thought we would both be in good health."

The food was delicious and the conversation changed from the fight to their relationship to their schoolwork to their aspirations. It was becoming increasingly easier for Galen to talk freely, and their conversations flowed easily between them like it could with no others they knew. But still, Krennic was burning to know how, why, what Galen had done.

"How did you stop them, Galen?" Galen coked his head in confusion. "They ran off afraid of you, I was just wondering what you did."

"I am stronger than I look." Galen said quietly as they stood to leave. "And I couldn't stand by and let something happen to you, Orson." He added as a quiet afterthought that had Krennic smiling a painful grin against bruised cheeks as they turned to leave the restaurant.


	15. Chapter 15

"What is this place?" Galen seemed fascinated by the pastry shop, going from counter to counter, peering through thick glass at an array of multicolored pastry that boasted recipes from across the galaxy. Krennic already knew his favorites, the eclairs that were packed with mid-rim chocolate cream and the rich spice cakes that Galen was looking at now. He was stunned for a moment, that Galen seemed so enraptured by all of this, but then the image of Grange flickered through his mind, with the only store the one that had sold a smattering of farm equipment and most of the booths at the market filled with cheap meats or overwrought produce. "Do they make all of these here?"

The woman behind the counter, a humanoid with silvery skin through Krennic a questioning glance as Galen walked along the aisles. He smiled at her, taking a seat at once of the small tables so Galen could shop. They had spent the morning in the city off campus, Krennic suspecting that after the incident yesterday that Galen needed the space away from the school. And a new data pad, which Krennic had watched him painstakingly count out credits for a used one while he pretended to look at other things. A temptation had swept over him to buy Galen one of the new, gleaming data pads that lined the wall. Something that would help him with his work, not hinder him with slow processing. But his father would be irate and Galen would never allow it either way. He had, however, insisted on their current trip through downtown so as to come to the pastry shop.

It was one in a row of small stores, two of which they had already stopped in. Krennic set the large bag of spun sugar taffy on the table in front of him, resisting the urge to east a piece while he waited for Galen to make his selection.

"Can I help you with something?" The woman asked, tapping her fingernails on the glass. Krennic covered his mouth to avoid smiling as Galen froze and stared back at her. To his relief, she wasn't frightened, but seemed faintly amused. "Well," She said, after a long minute of him saying nothing. "Let me know if you do." And she shuffled away to help other customers.

Krennic continued to watch as Galen blushed and then continued looking through the cases and at the bags of breads and boxes of full-size cakes. "Orson." He said, peering down, "I have never seen these before."

Krennic stood, walking over to see him examining a puff pastry that said it was the specialty of Grange. "Maybe it is from the other side of the planet." He mused, but Galen shook his head in confusion.

"The other side of the planet is covered by water." He paused, pulling at the skin by his lips like he did when he was concentrating. "Perhaps I have just never seen them." He concluded, almost more to himself than to Krennic, who had to stifle another laugh. Only Galen Erso could make pastries seem so serious.

"What are you going to get?" Krennic asked, and the woman came over to them, seeing that he had joined Galen. He ordered two each of the eclairs and the spice cakes, and while the woman was ordering them, Galen seemed to be contemplating.

"Have you had the fruit?" Krennic shook his head, and Galen studied the case harder. Krennic could feel the woman's patience wearing a bit, and he hoped Galen might notice.

"I'll take one of those." He finally said, pointing to Muja fruit Danishes. He reached into his pocket to pull out credits, but Krennic cut him off.

"He'll take two." And he pressed down enough credits for the food a generous tip before Galen could move any further. He took the box and Galen followed him out of the sweet-smelling shop as the woman flashed him another smile and raised her eyebrows. If he hadn't been otherwise…occupied in his life, he might have come back to talk to her. But, with a look at Galen, who faintly smiled as the sun that broke through the top layer of the city came down to them back out on the streets.

"Do you want this now, or later?" KRennic said, rummaging in the box with a napkin.

"Later." Galen said, "Thank you.'

Krennic had been planning on enjoying an evening at the night club, with a few shots of Swvedish whiskey to help wash the week away. But he ahd never made it out the door, and at the moment, he had no complaints.

Galen had eaten his pastry thoughtfully, and had laughed out loud when Orson had gotten the sugar coating from the spice cakes all over himself. He loved Galen's laugh, as rare as it was, it was always genuinely, like the man himself. He had pursed his lips at Galen, closing the box of sweets, taking the Danish from his roommates hand and placing it on the counter before pulling him into a kiss.

Galen had stopped him a few moments later, looking down between them. "You are covered in sugar." He has said, panting slightly. It always amazed Krennic that slight look of surprise in Galen's eyes when he kissed him, like he didn't expect for the continued interest of the man in front of him. It always brought a slight smirk to Krennic's face, that he could give Galen that reaction despite the fact that they were a month into whatever this was becoming. Krennic rolled his eyes at Galen's comment, and leaned in to kiss him again, his body aching for this kind of contact, but Galen's hands kept him back.

His mouth was pressed into a thin line and he was staring at the apparently offensive dusting on Krennic's tunic. "Galen…" He was about to ask some incredulous question, but stopped as Galen's hands started to undo his tunic fastenings. He heard his own breath catch, both amazed and slightly apprehensive. This anxiety wasn't new, he had held it many times getting undressed in front of strangers, tearing at his clothes, worried about their sharp gazes deadened by alcohol or ecstasy. But this time it was different.

As Galen's hands moved deftly, methodically undoing the layers that covered his skin, he could feel the heat moving over his skin in the same motions. He wondered if Galen knew he was attractive, with his high-cut cheekbones, dark eyes, dark hair, thin build. He was compelling, Krennic could feel the intelligence radiating from the seriousness of his gaze. He could feel his body reacting to that line of thoughts accordingly, but decided instead to focus on this moment.

Finally, all of Galen's work had paid off, and he felt the man's hands on his shoulders, pushing the fabric back. He tossed Krennic's shirt backwards onto the man's bed and simply stood there for a long moment. Krennic could feel his blush creeping up his neck, he wanted to know what Galen thought, his face impassive as always. Perhaps he was overhyping the depth of the relationship to begin and Galen wasn't all that interested in him sexually. Perhaps, now that they had moved this close, Galen was having second thoughts about this whole scene.

But then, he could feel the boys hand on the back of his neck, and the first kiss Galen had initiated between them being pressed to his lips. Fingers being brushed across his torso, and a sudden shift to turn them and press him back against the bed. He couldn't repress a slight moan at the contact, pulling him closer.

He longed to pull Galen's tunic off, to feel his skin instead of the rough fabric of his tunic. But he didn't want to push Galen too far, not in one night. "Wait." He said, breaking them apart. He stepped over, feeling Galen's gaze on him as he turned the light off and instead ignited the star map so the room glowed almost ethereally.

Galen sat on the bed, clearly not expecting them to continue, but Krennic went to him, kissing him hard and climbing up to press him back to the bed. Galen's hands trailed over his bare back, and he could feel the goosebumps rising along the same paths. He shuddered against him, and then, in move that made him gasp, Galen flipped them over, pressing him into the bed, his dark eyes catching the glints off the stars and planets that circled around them.

"Is this alright?" Galen asked, his voice rougher than Krennic was used to, his mouth still tasting of his Muja fruit pastry and the herbal tea Krennic had noticed him drinking as of late. "We can stop…."

Krennic laughed, running a hand up to trace Galen's jaw. "No." He said, pulling Galen back down to him, kissing him hard. He was acutely aware that Galen was making impassioned noises as he traced his skin, and as KRennic wrapped a leg around Galen's waist to pull him closer, he had to smirk with the knowledge that Galen was enjoying this as much as he was.

He let his feelings swirl around him, sexual, temporal, and for once in his life, he just enjoyed the sensation of being this close to someone he actually cared for. What an odd feeling for a man who never thought he needed someone else.


	16. Chapter 16

Orson woke to an unaccustomed warmth at his side, and around his waist. He brought a hand up to his face, letting out a long breath as he tried to figure out the scene in front of him. It took him a moment, in the sleepy state he was in, to realize that he was looking at his side of the room, and was, in fact, asleep on Galen's. He blinked for a few moments, realizing that the warmth was Galen's body and his arm wrapped around his waist. As he lay still, he could feel Galen's breath warm on the back of his neck, move over the skin and down his spine.

He felt his neck redden in the darkness, trying to riddle out all that had happened. His shirt he could see lying on his bed, and since he could feel the rough fabric of Galen's tunic on his back and didn't see anymore of his own clothes strewn on their floor, he decided that there was nothing he had forgotten about the night before. So instead of rising early as he normally did, though his body was more than ready to get up, he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of Galen pressed against him before the world came rudely back to them.

He was warm and strong, and, even though Krennic knew it was just a byproduct of the morning, seemed a bit ready, even in his sleep. But he knew that he couldn't stay there all day, and even though his body cried out against the loss of warmth, he moved to the shower, sparing a few moments to look at Galen who mumbled in his sleep as he had slipped down to be almost covered by the blanket he had pulled over the pair of them, his fingers closing together above the sheet. He had to smile at the look on Galen's face, impassive as (almost) always, but daring to hint at a small smile that came with pleasant dreams, dreams that Krennic hoped he might be the star of.

Galen still had woken when Krennic had come back to gather his things for the day, the sun barely clipping in through the bottom rungs of the window. He was tempted to wake him, to give him a kiss that hinted at the long week ahead for both of them while serving as a reminder for the night before, so much so that he took two steps toward the bed before turning on his heel and taking his bag out the door with him.

As per usual, there was hardly anyone up at this hour. The weekend had been immediately following mid-term examinations and the parties had done almost more damage than the tests had. The whole building smelled of alcohol and poor decision making, and the only person he saw again was the elderly custodian that usually worked late at night cleaning the men's hall. He walked with purpose, neatly dressed to the toe, and headed for the academic buildings.

He passed through the different wings of the building, nodding to one professor that had arrived early, but otherwise continuing unannounced. He thought this might be the time he did his best work. With a smirk to himself, he thought that he hadn't done too badly in Galen's bed either, but since that had stagnated for the time being, he chose to focus on academic pursuits. There was no one around to impress, no one to bother him at this early hour. He could make mistakes and curse through them in language that would appall some of the older professors here, but that relived the stress he felt when his blueprints wouldn't come out perfect on the first try. He wondered vaguely, if Galen had ever cursed like that, and tried to picture it. It was enough to make him laugh, and to jolt him to start heading to his first class.

He folded his plans carefully, excited at last to finish the roof design for the recreation complex. The funding has been approved for initial construction and they would begin as soon as term ended. He and Galen had already applied for housing at the program and been approved, so he was hoping to settle into a very productive term break.

The buildings were still scarce with people, spread thin as most students avoided the early morning courses. He smirked to himself, hoping that they knew that the world beyond the classrooms didn't operate on a nocturnal timetable. He heard a door close behind him on the left, but it mingled with the other sounds of doors opening and closing, heating units kicking on and off, louder students beginning to address each other across the hall. He could see no one, but felt a strong tug on his bag. He turned, looking down to where he expected a hand and instead felt one press against his mouth, muffling his shout of surprise as he was jerked backwards harshly, no one in the hall to see it happen as he looked into a familiar, snarling face with a broken nose that hadn't grown back properly.

* * *

Galen Erso frowned. It was very unlike Orson to miss class. In fact, he had never missed class before that Galen was aware of, and certainly never ones that they had together where his almost constant finger tapping and pen chewing provided an almost welcome audible distraction during particularly boring lectures. But he did not show. Not even late, when other students who could not care to be on time came through the door with loud interrupting gestures. Galen sighed, perhaps Orson had simply needed a break. He silently hoped to himself that it had nothing to do with the night before, though he had been worried he had been far too forward, and instead decided to take detailed notes that he could share later.

He still hadn't arrived by the end of lecture, and since Galen knew most of the topic they were studying since he had actually done the reading, his mind was free to dream un ridiculous possibilities born of old anxieties. Perhaps he had requested a schedule change after realizing his relationship with Galen was no longer what he wanted and he wanted to distance himself from the man. Perhaps he had been moving his things out of his dorm and had found a different roommate to get away from Galen. Maybe he had decided the effort of pretending wasn't worth it and had secretly hated Galen all along. The thoughts were fast coming, each one slightly worse that all the rest in its own way, and he could feel himself starting to feel as though he was suffocating.

When the dismissal bell finally rang and he was able to slam his notebook into his bag and disappear before anyone else had even stood, he finally felt the relief of no longer being in that room. He knew he needed a break, and searched for the refresher that was somewhere on the hall. A place to breath in the mirror without a dozen pairs of suspicious eyes glaring at him, a professor to watch him, or obligations to meet. He stepped into the room, finally finding it near the stairs the research lab, and shoved inside.

Something was wrong. He was too perceptive to not see it, but what it was remained unclear. One of the sinks had been left on, and he chalked up that perhaps it had just been paranoia. But as he stepped to turn it off, he saw one of the stall doors was shut, but a quick glance under it and he saw a person slumped onto the ground. "Hello?" He asked, but there was no response.

He hooked his bag on the wall, and knocked on the stall. "Hello?" Something was badly wrong, he could feel it in his stomach, but he couldn't see through. He went in to the next stall, climbing onto the toilet right as another boy came in, saw him, and promptly turned back around. He blushed, but he was well aware that most people at the program already considered him strange, and whatever this was, it was far more important.

"Hello?" He wasn't quite tall enough to see over the stall, but he leaned as far as he could and pulled himself up, looking down. His mouth went dry, his heart leapt forward in his chest.

"Orson?" He heard himself whisper, "Orson?" But the figure, slumped with his head on the paper holder, a steady stream of blood dripping from his mouth being the only injury Galen could see, though there were certainly more.

"Orson!" He yelled, but there was no response. In a full panic, he climbed down off the toilet and started ramming against the stall door as hard as he could with his shoulder feeling the cheap lock rattle as he did. A few solid hits, and it was starting to loosen, he kept calling Orson's name, the word almost heavy on his lips. Another boy came in, stopping dead in his tracks at the scene in front of him, trying to take in Galen's tear-stained face his attempts to damage school property.

"Go get the nurse." He said, and the boy, a freshman by the look of him, nodded and ran off, letting the door slam behind him.

Two more solid hits and the door fell, Galen catching it before it could fall onto the body lying on the floor. "Orson?" He said, pushing the door away and falling to his knees. But his blue eyes were closed, bruises starting to form along his jaw and blood spilling out between his teeth and gums to drip onto the floor below him. There were footprints on his chest and ribcage, the outline of the school issue boots. One of his shoes was gone. But, as Galen looked at him, at first mistaking it for blood that had dripped from his mouth, there was a darkening wound on his left shoulder, a slit in the fabric that was letting the blood spread like a flower over the crisp grey of his uniform.

"Orson?" He said again, his voice still a whisper, but now his hand gently cradling the side of his face, but he wasn't waking, that he knew. "It will be okay." He said, willing himself to believe it. "I am here."

And then he heard the door open behind him, the hurried feet of administrators pouring in to fix this whole thing.

* * *

Krennic blinked awake, his eyes opening slowly at first as what might have been the nastiest headache he had ever felt pushed at his eyelids. He tried to move his hands up to cover his eyes, but his left arm screamed in protest, so instead, he closed his eyes again, breathing heavy against the onslaught of pain.

He could hear someone speaking, a voice he knew, but he was so disoriented that he couldn't place it at first. It continued, and he wasn't sure what the voice was saying at all, and was beginning to be quite sure that it wasn't being said in Basic, whatever it was. "He is awake." Finally, words he could understand. Then that low humming of words he didn't.

"He's in for a nasty few minutes at least. Before the painkillers set in on that headache." He agreed with that, but that was an unfamiliar voice to him. He latched back on to the one that he knew, letting the low, rich hum soothe him, lower his breathing rate, help rest his heart. He tried to remember what had happened, but with each passing second, he could only feel more pinpoints along his body that were like tiny needle pricks that burned like fire along his jaw, his chest, his ribcage, his foot. Not to mention the now constant pain in his arm that he wanted to curse himself for bringing to life.

"Orson." There was that voice again, and he even turned his head toward it, something he body would actually allow him to do with minimal protest. "You do not have to speak. You are being treated."

He wanted to ask what he was being treated for, had a thousand questions that were suddenly burning against his skull. But soon, almost as quickly as they had come, they were deadened as what felt like liquid ice pushed through the pain in his head and slowed it down. He blinked, this time able to keep his eyes open and focused on the figure whose voice he had heard.

"Galen?" He asked, his own voice sounding terrible to his ears. The figure looked down at him, bathed in incredibly bright fluorescent lighting.

"It is okay, Orson." He said, his voice soothing as the ice changed from relief to an incredible drowsiness that threatened to pull him back to the comfort of sleep.

"Galen." He said again, closing his eyes, suddenly fearful. "Don't leave." He wanted to reach a hand out, realizing now that something terrible had happened to him, but the details escaped his mind. He wanted, no, he needed Galen there when he woke again. But he couldn't move, what he now realized was medicine held his body at bay.

"Don't worry." His voice again, followed by a warm, rough hand with familiar calloused fingers wrapped its way around his own. "I won't." And he let sleep take him back over, using his last bit of waking strength to squeeze tightly to the fingers laced around his own.


	17. Chapter 17

"Does this hurt?" He heard Galen ask, his voice deep with worry as he long fingers moved across the scar now formed on Orson' shoulder. It had become a ritual, Galen dressing the wound each morning, and redressing it again each night before they fell asleep.

"No, Galen. It hasn't hurt for days." Krennic sighed, "I told you that." Galen said nothing, but finished tracing the wound which had healed into a thin white line.

"You were stabbed." He said finally, and Krennic could hear the anger resonating in Galen's voice. A deep, and he had to admit, somewhat appealing tone, that hinted that the man was more than simply irritated by the turn of events. Not that he had any reason, really, for lingering anger. Once Krennic had been healed enough to speak and the daze of drugs had left his system, he had remembered his attackers clearly. They were gone, no longer members of the student population and were being prosecuted for assault (which he supposed was the one things his father was decent at) and he had been left to heal.

"Yes," Krennic said, "but I've had an excellent caretaker." Galen's expression didn't change, but Krennic noticed the tips of his ears turning red at the praise. He felt Galen's hand move, tracing paths where bruises had finally healed, down to his ribcage. While this was after he had bene hit in the head several times, he could vaguely recall the other man stomping on his ribcage in the bathroom, oddly angled with the floor, while the bones resisted the urge to snap and bend.

"What about this?" His fingers trailed over the areas that had been hardest hit and longest to recover. They were healed now, the skin slightly more sensitive to Galen's touch than it had been before, but nothing painful. In fact, it was quite the opposite, and he could feel the blush creeping up his neck as Galen kept his hand moving.

"No." He said finally, not able to form more words in order to ensure he didn't say something that was truly on his mind.

"Okay." Galen said, and took a step back, Krennic letting out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. "It has fully scared over, there is nothing to bandage." And he turned away to close the small kit of first aid supplies on his bed. Krennic reached over, pulled his tunic loosely around his arms, but not buttoning it, letting it sit around him as he watched Galen.

He thought about the last two weeks spent in his care, he had been patient, his touch both healing and firm as he worked over Krennic's wounds. He could remember when he would play games outside of his home on Lexrule, run through the house, fall and get scraped. Get a small cut. Bump his head. Hurt his knee. Always, always, he would run to whichever parent was home from their job, tug on their tunic or dress. He could remember the last time he cried, when an extended piece of metal had ripped a hole through his pants into his leg, the wound deep and soaking the cloth with blood when he was eight years old. His mother had regarded him as if he were an unwanted stray animal and sent him to the butler to get bandaged while she tended to other things. He remembered that day, the clinical lack of caring their servant had had while wrapping his leg, the blood that continued to spot at the wrappings for the next few days while he kept any stiffness and pain to himself. The tears that had dried on his face and never reappeared.

He could compare that to the last two weeks, where when he would wake up, stiff and in pain, Galen would already be awakening, ready with the kit to redress his arm. He would help him get to the bathroom, help him pull on shirts. Help him carry his bag or dining tray, even when he wasn't sitting with Krennic and would disappear to his booth at the back, only to reappear when Krennic had finished eating to help him walk down the hall with his things. How many times had Galen's gentle fingers probed the bruises on his skin, checking for knots of infection or more severe damage? How many bacta patches had he peeled and opened over the past two weeks? Krennic could feel the care, the seriousness of Galen's actions, but also the genuine affection put behind him.

If he was honest, the thought scared him slightly. The gentle kiss Galen had given him only a couple of days before as he was turning in bed, trying to find a way to lay comfortably with his arm had soothed him so much he had laid awake in fear for almost half an hour. He was Orson Krennic. He didn't need others. He was independent, he could handle himself.

But perhaps, just perhaps, this boy in front of him who was neatly folding all of the pieces of the kit back into their proper place, was not a threat. The man, who, now that the painkillers had been gone from his system for a few days, he had been longing to hold close and feel breathing next to him again, could be more than a simple useful additive in his life. He looked at Galen longingly for another moment before standing, determined to take action.

Galen was taller than him, but when he leaned forward, his forehead fit perfectly into the curve of Galen's shoulder. Galen froze, but when Orson wrapped his arms around Galen's torso, he felt the same hands that had tended to his injuries lay over them just as gently. "Thank you, Galen." He said, and took in a deep breath of the clean, crisp scent of Galen Erso. "Truly."

"You're welcome." He answered back, in his typical tone that was at least tinged with some unidentifiable emotion.

"You know." Krennic said, and, feeling more than slightly daring, he pressed his lips up to Galen's ear. "Since I'm feeling better…"

"Orson." Galen's voice was steady, only a slight quiver bringing a smile to Orson's lips. "You have been hurt."

"And now I'm all better." He said in reply, and he slid of his hands from under Galen's, moving to undo the fastenings that held together Galen's tunic. "Is this alright?"

Galen said nothing for a moment, and Orson could feel him breathing against his chest, his body warm and inviting Krennic to hold him close. He paused his fingers, the fabric still pulled to Galen but the fastenings undone completely. "Don't stop, Orson." Finally, Galen breathed out, and Krennic grinned, pressing another kiss to his neck before he tugged on Galen's die to get him to turn around.

When they were face to face, Krennic moved his hand up over the fabric covering Galen's chest to gently trace his fingertips along the line of his jaw. The fabric started to move and he got a slight glimpse of Galen's chest, but kept his eyes trained on Galen's instead. They were almost swimming, and he could feel the tension in Galen's muscles, the slight anxiety that he knew he shared. But this, this he had wanted for a long time, and now it finally seemed as though Galen was okay with Krennic seeing more of his body.

He moved his fingers back to Galen's neck, pulling him down into a kiss, their first real one since the night before all of this had ever happened. Galen tasted like fresh mint, opening his mouth as soon as Krennic pressed against his lips with his tongue, and Krennic couldn't help a small groan at the contact that was swallowed up by Galen's mouth.

He didn't want to seem greedy, but it had been weeks. And before that, his body had been pressing him almost constantly for this sort of contact. He would go slow, for Galen's sake, but this was familiar territory. His mouth was hot and his hands that pushed Krennic's loose shirt off of his shoulders and wrapped around his back were a welcome touch that hinted at something more intimate.

"I've missed this." He said, pulling back. Galen was breathing hard, slightly panting and flushed, only nodding his agreement as Krennic pulled at the twin panels of his tunic covering his torso. He was sure it wasn't care or lust or whatever he was feeling that had led him to appreciate the sight in front of him. Galen, though he always seemed lean, had a thick layer of muscles up under his olive skin from his years of farm work. Krennic moved slow, starting at Galen's waistline, where his muscles made a hard v-cut into his trousers, and moved up, tracing over a defined abdomen, a chest that was covered with the perfect amount of hair to match the stubble on Galen's face, up to the strong shoulders that held his shirt up.

With very little trepidation, he pushed it back off Galen's body, running his hands back down his chest until they could rest right above his hips. He looked up to see Galen looking away from him, his face dark red with embarrassment. "Galen." Krennic said, and his friend glanced down, his dark eyes flickering downwards, but his face not turning. "Get on the bed."

Galen pulled back, Orson already missing the feel of his skin under his hands, but knowing this would be better anyhow. He turned off the light, turning on the small lamp be Galen's bed instead, and joined Galen, who was watching him almost warily. But he didn't give him the opportunity to ask questions, pinning him back, straddling his waist and legs with his own, pulling him into another kiss as their bodies pressed together in semi-darkness.

Krennic smiled against Galen's lips, running his hands along Galen's bare back whenever it was possible, turning them to pull the other man over top of him, keeping them pressed together as much as he could, or tracing Galen's defined features with his hands as much as he could, craving contact. Craving something that, after so long in pain, felt like a mixture of relief and pleasure.

"You're beautiful, Galen." He hears himself say at one point, no sarcasm or ulterior motive in his words since he knows this is a far as things would go that night. But he is simply telling the truth, looking down to trace a small, seemingly forgotten scar on Galen's left bicep as Galen hovers over him.

"I am not the only one." Galen replies after a few moments of his characteristic silence, and to keep Galen from seeing the blush that darkens his entire body, Krennic pulls him into another kiss, letting the added heat pass between them.


	18. Chapter 18

The end of term came quickly, and Galen had to admit he was ready for the solitude he hoped the summer might offer. Krennic's attack had made him a sort of celebrity, and Galen, as his roommate among other things had been dealing with a steady stream of people. He himself had begun attracting a large amount of unwanted attention as others began to pick up on the nature of his and Orson's relationship, and he would be glad when their whispers and stares would not be following him for nearly two months. Orson had seemed to notice, and had given him space as he needed it, taking his company out of the room and no longer trying to force Galen to interact with his other associates unless Galen showed direct interest. Which he never had.

He was happy, then, to sit at the same table he and Orson had watched each other at when Orson had decided to ask him to be his roommate at the conclusion of the term before. Orson was watching him now, one thumb pressed to his lips, the other's fingers drumming softly on the table. It was a rare moment when Galen knew Orson wasn't watching him, but instead the people milling around them, some who would return from summers spent at places where they would be employed in the near future, others who would never return and they probably would never hear from again. To Orson, it was fascinating, and Galen knew he could read the people's intentions and destinations by simply watching their movements, their body language, their interactions even though they were nonverbal to Orson. A rare treat for Orson to practice his already almost-perfected skills on.

But, even more to Galen, it was a rare moment where he could look at Orson unrestricted by the intense gaze that was usually returned to him. He could watch the slight fluttering of Orson's hair; many shades lighter than his own as it moved in the slight breeze created by the traffic around them. He could study Orson's skin, pale but not sickly in the fluorescent lights, he could look at the curve of his body as he turned to watch people moving and blush slightly at the knowledge that he had seen Orson's body curve in the same ways under him on his bed, or around him in quiet darkness on late nights. He could see Orson's serious expression, hinted at with a bit of mischievousness that effectively charmed most people he met, and watch as he was completely enthralled with the social game going on around him. His eyes could find the small scar that was exposed at the very tip by his tunic when it was only pulled loosely around his shoulders and let a sort of fierce protective anger he hadn't known he possessed burn low in his stomach.

But he had become better at watching, and at times like these, when it seemed at any moment that Orson would turn to say something to him, he kept his eyes mostly down, listening to the almost distracting but slightly comforting sound of Orson's fingers tapping as his refused to sit completely still. "How would you feel about a trip, Galen?"

That, Galen had not been expecting, and he looked up from where he had bene pretending to concentrate on a reading for his summer research. "A trip?" He got an uncomfortable feeling in his gut that Orson had some lavish vacation destination in mind for the week before they had to be officially back on site, though neither of them had bothered moving out their things. Galen because he had nowhere to go to, and Orson because he would rather not. He would not allow Orson to pay for him so lavish trip, no matter if they were involved or not.

"My father commed me yesterday." Orson said carefully, trying his best to sound carefree, though Galen could detect the difference in tone. "He wants me to return home to Lexrule for the small break."

"Oh." Galen said, and he was having memories to a dark night in their room what seemed like ages before, when he had watched Orson practically spit venom at his family before he had pulled Galen into a kiss that tasted of sugar and whiskey. Their first kiss, one that Galen was certain would be forever ingrained in his mind and his skin, that even now sent a small flush creeping over his body. He and Orson had been inching closer to physical intimacy, that much had become quite clear, particularly over the last few weeks. IF he had to be honest with himself, he wouldn't mind it, the thought made him avert his eyes and roll his shoulders, but Orson had distracted himself with his own thoughts and didn't notice.

"I asked him if I could bring a friend." Orson continued, his voice back to being measured, a true falseness decorating his words. "He said it would be fine." He looked at Galen now. "I thought you might like to join me."

Galen wasn't opposed to joining him, not really. A week spent on Lexrule could be nice, especially if spent in the company of Orson, whom he found himself drawn to almost continuously. But he could see something larger at stake here, even if he had not wanted to go, even if every fiber of his being had fought back against it and he had pushed and pushed and decided he would rather die that go to Lexrule, he would not be able to say no to the Orson Krennic that sat across from him now. Written in his face was a sort of almost fear, a quiet desperation that he would never voice, but Galen could see clearly.

"Of course, if you don't want to…" Orson's voice faltered now, even he couldn't help it at Galen's silence, and he looked away.

"Of course I will go." Galen said, reaching out to place a hand on Orson's now relentlessly loud fingers. "It will be fun." He said with a smile, even allowing his teeth to show.

Only a few hours later, they were arriving on Lexrule. Krennic had brought nothing with him but the candies he was so fond of and his schoolbag to continue work in preparation for the break. Galen had his case of clothes, his backpack, toiletries, and an extra pair of shoes in case they decided to do something adventurous or outdoors. Sativran City was phenomenal, and Galen watched outside the glass window of the ship as they settled down on a large landing pad. Brentaal was a large, bustling urban planet, but it had nothing on Lexrule, where even as he watched, massive shipments carrying goods both landed and took off from hundreds of pads across the landing station.

Orson was becoming far more anxious and had been wondering around the cabin for the better part of half an hour while Galen watched outside. Galen could hear him whispering to himself at certain points, but decided it was best not to ask what was wrong and simply kept his hands folded in his lap before they landed. Orson said little, other that excusing himself to go to other parts of the ship and pace when he would tire of looking at the same view.

When they finally did arrive, he only had one clipped sentence to offer Galen. "I apologize in advance for anything they say to you." And that had been enough to make Galen swallow hard as he followed him off the landing ramp with his meager belongings. He held his shoes in his hand, balancing his bags on his suitcase in the other, and watched the city around them as they stepped out of the ship. It was nothing like Grange, in fact, Galen thought there might be more people gathered around this single platform than he had ever seen together on Grange, even on market days. And elderly human woman smiled and waved at him from where she was selling official Lexrulian merchandise, and he couldn't help but smile back, even though it was clear she was trying to attract his attention as an outsider.

"Orson." He looked up at the call for his friend to see a rather odd sight. "Welcome home." The man's voice was not loud, and almost too high pitched to be imposing. There were no emotions in his words, no warmth there for his son's arrival. The woman next to him, who, from her blue eyes must have been Orson's mother, said nothing, and Galen could feel her eyes as though they were dissecting him from meters away.

"Father." Orson said, with his typical flair of fake enthusiasm that almost made Galen want to laugh. The last time he had heard that, Orson had been talking to a particularly uninteresting boy explain a theory incorrectly. "Mother. It's good to see you both."

He stopped in front of them, but neither party made any move towards each other. No embrace or even a handshake between the two men who stood in similarly impassive stances. "This is Galen."

This time, Orson's father did extend a hand, and Galen scrambled to set his shoes down to shake it, doing the same with Orson's mother. "Hello." He said, and he suddenly wanted to be very far away from them. "Thank you for allowing me to stay with you."

"It is nice to meet one of Orson's friends." His mother's voice was mellow, her tone rich like coffee, but with the same lack of emotion that his father's had possessed, though he suspected she was hiding something whereas the man simply did not care either way. He was beginning to get the feelings, from their gaze lingering longer on the worn patches on his uniform to the dark skin of his calloused hands, to his slightly crooked teeth, that they were finding him distasteful. It was the same look he had received from many of the students in the program. A look of entitlement, a look of disregard.

"We should go back to the house." Orson broke the moment of silence, and Galen could hear the anger in his tone. Evidently, he was not the only one to notice the way they were looking at Galen, and he couldn't help his ears from burning.

"Excellent." His father said, "It is good to have you home after a year away, Orson, there is much to discuss."

And he turned, leading them back to a sleek cruiser that caught the light off of everything that gleamed around them on the platform. Galen followed slightly behind Orson, almost wishing he could get back on the transport and return to Brentaal instead of spending a week with people who clearly did not want him here, but he kept moving, keeping his eyes on Orson's ever-elongating curls as he boarded the cruiser behind him.

He set his bags along the wall, sitting next to Orson in a row of seats behind his parents, which clearly indicated they were not planning on talking on the way back to the house. Galen sighed softly, but was happy he could at least look out the window at the city he hoped he might have a chance to explore. Perhaps it would have a pastry shop like the one on Brentaal and he could get one of those spice cakes that Orson seemed to love so well, or another Danish that had been almost too sweet to eat. He felt Orson's hand ghost over his leg, before stopping to press their palms together, intertwining their fingers together. He glanced over, but Orson was looking out the window of his own side of the cruiser in an attempt to not look at him. So instead, he gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and was reminded that though this trip would be difficult, he was not hear for himself and hoped that that might give him strength.


	19. Chapter 19

Galen watched as his host family sat in silence above what promised to be an excellent tasting, but miserable dinner. His introduction to the Krennic home had been a long trip through winding hallways that gleamed with modern taste, and a brief depositing of his things in one of the many bedrooms spread on the upper floor of the home. It was beautiful, his bed decorated with finery in a rich brown and red color scheme that matched the room decorations perfectly. Each room they went in had its own unique appeal, and color scheme and taste that all blended together to form a home that did not quite fit together but blended all the same. He was starting to get the same feeling about dinner, in which the silence between people was broken only by Orson's mother who would occasion speak commands into a device on the table that Krennic had briefly explained linked her directly to the hospital coordinator across the city. She ran most of the operations on site, but had to manage some when she was at their home.

Orson's father would watch her pointedly during these brief conversations, and Galen could see why Orson was so good at reading people. He would have had little else to do in a childhood of silent dinners that try to riddle out the subtle expressions across these two faces. He could not decide who they disliked more: each other, or himself, watching them with trepidation.

"The soup is excellent." He said, and all three sets of eyes turned on him, Orson's wide with surprise, his parents narrowing slightly. "I have never had this kind of vegetable before." He poked at what he thought might be a squash floating in his soup before taking a bite of it to show his genuine enthusiasm. The food was quite good, and he could appreciate it, even with the very controlled silence.

"What is it that your family does, Galen?" Orson's father now took the opportunity to ask questions, and Galen was almost sorry that he had spoken at all. He watched Orson's eyes close in slight contempt at his father's question, his face turned away as his lips pressed into a tight line of anger.

Galen swallowed his squash, looking down at the table briefly before forcing himself to look in the eyes of the elder Mr. Krennic. "My parents are both dead. They were farmers on Grange before that."

"Yes, I remember Orson telling me about your mother." Though Orson and Galen had water in their glasses, Orson's father tipped a wineglass to his lips, deep red and rich. "What is it then, that you are planning to do with your life, Galen? Surely not farming."

Galen had never considered himself particularly attached to Grange, or the earth that had settled permanently in the skin of his hands, the days spent in almost blinding sunlight that had given him his olive complexion. But now, seeing what other options could have been, with this inerrant coldness and a false pretense of family that seemed to have overtaken this family, he was quiet proud of the moments eh could remember being pulled into close hugs against the rough wool of his mother's shawl. The taste of a saved-for and labored-over cake that he got to eat once a year. The birthdays he had forgotten about because they couldn't celebrate, but how his mother would let him take part of the day to go to market, got the library and read for a time instead of spending the day only in the fields. And now, hearing the disdain for farming from this man's lips, to hear him lambast his childhood, even perhaps unintentionally, he could feel the anger swelling in his throat.

"I plan on doing whatever best suits my abilities." He answered, more defiantly that he intended, and watched as the man's nostrils flared slightly.

"Well, then perhaps the galaxy will be a better place for it." Was the response, and after he set his wine glass back on the coaster, keeping his eyes on Galen, who had to work incredibly hard to keep his open and within the man's gaze. "After all, we can't all have the same level of success. There is not crime in an…honest…living." If Galen was angry at the tone, he hardly had time to react before Orson did.

"What?" The thinly veiled anger was gone, replaced by pure rage. "What would possess you to say that?"

"Orson." His father said, his eyebrows lifted slightly and even his mother having moved her eyes from the screen in front of her to observe her son with the same blue gaze that Galen was familiar with when he knew Orson was trying hard to figure something out that was of particular difficulty.

"You know nothing of Galen." He said, his voice on the verge of shouting, his accent even more defined.

"It is alright, Orson." Galen offered softly, his friend turning wild eyes to him for a moment.

"No, it isn't." He stood from the table, "I came here because you asked me to. Not so you could belittle my friends with false assumptions." His hands were fisted on the table, and Galen was amazed at the floodgate that seemed to have burst forth.

"Past records are against him." His father said, seemingly unperturbed by his son's borderline violent outburst. "Scholarship students rarely make it far after school, Orson. I'm sure Galen here understands that the odds are against him. Don't pretend you didn't bring him here to goad your mother and I."

"Goad you into what, exactly?" Galen was now fully aware that this argument was no longer about him. That the conversation he was observing and seemed to be the central figure of had little to do with him at all. "Actually caring about something in my life?"

"I don't care who you associate with, Orson, as long as the money I'm affording to send you through this program doesn't amount to nothing." His father said, his voice escalating to begin to match Orson's. "Of all the people you could choose to bring home, you choose the one person that you hoped would garner a reaction. It is obvious, Orson." The words dropped like lead between them. "Sit down."

But Orson didn't sit down, or move, or do anything other than stand and wrap his fists tight around the back of his chair and glare daggers at his father. The accusations his father was lobbing in Galen's direction were starting to hit Galen, who could feel himself blushing uncomfortably. The truth was that the man did have some excellent points. Perhaps one of the hundreds of scholarship students that had graduated from Brentaal had been successful in their lives beyond attaining some entry level job. To be fair, he was doing more in terms of research and theory development than any of them had, but the odds were against him.

"I brought Galen here because I was under the impression that for once in my life, you might care about something important to me." He was now talking at them, eyes moving back and forth between them. "It seems I was wrong."

He turned and Galen watched his back disappear out the dining room, ignoring the butler who was delivering their final course. But Galen rose as well. "Thank you for dinner." He said, and rose as their angry eyes watched him and followed Orson into a house he know understood he was not welcome at.

He found Orson in his room, one of their last stops on Galen's earlier tour. He was sitting on the bed, and Galen paused in the doorway to silently observe him, though he knew that his friend knew he was there. Orson's room was impeccably decorated, and impeccably clean. It would have to be, with the drapes, the soft rugs, the bedspread, the aesthetic in a pure shade of white, with only small bits of black interlaced in a soft color scheme. Orson stuck out quite well in his rich green tunic, and Galen thought this might make an excellent portrait, with thick lines of white paint that seemed to gleam around his dark green clothes in quick strokes that would show the anger and wide curves that might illustrate the sadness.

"I'm sorry, Galen." He said, and the words were so similar to how Orson had said them at his mother's funeral, that his own anger at the situation lessened. Orson needed help at the moment far more than he, and if he was being honest, there was only so far that harsh words could throw him. "I should have known he would say something." Orson's eyes were on him now, watching him standing in the doorway with some sort of irreparable guilt and sadness on his face.

Galen moved out of the doorway, shutting it gently behind him, and moved to m beside Orson, feeling the soft mattress cover sink beneath their combined weights. He didn't speak, he had never been, and would never be, as good as Orson at having he correct thing to say. But that didn't mean he couldn't be present. "He won't understand you, Galen. He won't see your potential, and he has never seen mine. He wants me to return here, take over the banking systems he has set in place because he thinks I won't ever be able to do anything else." Orson let out a breath, sounding a hair's breadth away from breaking down in front of Galen, who was well aware he would be ill-equipped to handle it. "He thinks my goals are illogical and that I can't achieve them. He sent me to Brentaal with the expectation I would fail and come home, that he could keep from the success I know I'm meant to have Galen."

He took in another breath, his hands tightening into fits on his duvet cover, rumpling the expensive fabric between large fingers. "He thinks I'm meant to stay here, that this is all I can ever be because to do something different means I'm better than him. Better than both of them." Galen watches him stand, turned away from him. He lets his arms on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him, Orson doesn't sound particularly angry anymore. He sounds determined. Determined and sad. "Am I just kidding myself, Galen?" He almost whispers, and that creeping doubt has come back to his voice. A horrible, grating sense of self-loathing that Galen is all too familiar with.

He stands, and curves his hand around a familiar shoulder so that Orson will face him. He says nothing, but loops his arms around him, pulling him close to him, letting him hide what Orson will see as shameful emotions in Galen's shoulder as he returns the embrace, his breathing heavy. "Another man once told me something, Orson." He says softly into the ear that is hidden by a frock of light brown curls. "That others would always see us as lesser because of where we come from." He heard Orson's breathing start to slow, the verge of his breakdown at least pushed back for now. "You told me it didn't matter. That what they thought didn't matter, and someday, you would prove to them that it didn't."

He could feel the slight turn of Orson's head, turning as the thought either soothed him or brought out that fierceness that Galen had seen before. "It is not up to your parents, Orson. And I know you can decide to do great things." Orson pulled back his head, his blue eyes burning into Galen. "I have seen you do them." His voice dropped to a low whisper.

"You will, too, you know?" Orson answered, reaching up to trace his turning over Galen's lips at his shy smile that he returned. "You have the most incredible mind I have seen, Galen. The galaxy will be ours someday." There was that slight gleam it Orson's gaze that gave Galen pause and made him wonder exactly what Orson was referring to. But now was not the time for doubts of himself, or of his closest friend. There was too much at stake, too much pulling them together to try and drive them apart.

Galen leaned forward, keeping his eyes open for a second longer to watch Krennic's blue ones close as they kissed. Unlike earlier, when his eyes had glowed angry, they now seemed alive only with a familiar look of desire for intimacy that Galen was more than willing to offer. But closed, they seemed almost gentle, Orson Krennic seemed almost vulnerable, and Galen couldn't help but smile as he opened his mouth at Orson's insistence.

How long they kissed, it was hard to say. It didn't feel heavy with promises, or a lead-in to anything at the moment. They had been informed that the entire family, along with Galen, would be attending a show in the city later that evening, but neither was in a rush to end things, and when Orson did finally pull back, Galen couldn't help but move his hand from where it had been tangled in Orson's hair to trace the curve of his slightly swollen lips that were parted with heavy breathing.

"We should go downstairs." He said, keeping his hand around the curve of Orson's face that was becoming gradually more defined as they both began to look older. So different from their first conversation in the library about physics. He ran his thumb along his angled jaw. So different and yet they had changed together. "I will follow you."

"Will you always?" Orson said, with a slight smirk that might have been a joke, but that Galen could see the truth laced into his words. The question that he would never dare to ask another person, truly, he could never make himself be that vulnerably in the truest sense. He took Galen's hand, pulled him towards the door.

Yes." Galen said softly in reply, feeling that if the rest of his life were like this, there were far worse things that could happen to a man from Grange. Orson said nothing, squeezing his fingers gently before letting him go as they reached the stairs. Galen smiled, knowing there would be rough moments to come, but gentle moments to follow.


	20. Chapter 20

He thought he might be sinking into a cloud, or perhaps drowning in the surplus threads that his sheet was woven from. Every subtle shift in his body seemed to pull him further into the bed, and the more pointed parts of his body, his shoulders, hips, knees, and elbows, would sink in further. He might have thought it felt nice after the stiffness of his Program mattress, but each time he would sink, it would seem that comforter would threaten to fill his nostrils with fabric and he had to turn on his back to keep his face from overheating. He sighed, wondering how it must feel to always be surrounded by this kind of finery.

His room in the light was different shades of rich dark red and brown, and as he turned, he could see the lights of Sativran City casting dark shadows across all of the items in here. The piece lamps that added dark splashes of color, the soft rugs that he was glad to see were the perfect size for his suitcase and backpack to rest on. It was a lovely room, but he found himself missing his and Orson's room back on Brentaal, with the desk that was perfectly neat, but also covered with his papers that held all of his thoughts. Of Orson's star chart map that so often cast dim light over them while they worked in tandem.

He closed his eyes and turned his mind to that room in the hope it might make it easier to sleep. He let his mind wander, as it had before he and Orson had first become involved, and he could feel his skin heating the with the thoughts that came to his mind, both memory and fantasy intertwining to give him a rather pleasant set of thoughts, his skin flushing against the soft fabric. He was minutes, perhaps, from a sleep full of pleasant dreams when he heard the knob turn on his door. His brain kicked into hyperdrive, and he sat up straight, slightly panicking at the dark form in his room.

But the same light that had shone through his window now illuminated a familiar figure, wearing pajama pants and a think shirt that covered his torso. "Orson?" He asked, sleepiness settling back over him as he calmed, instead blushing at his semi-present arousal, though he doubted Orson could see it at this point. "Are you alright?"

He looked harder, his vision getting clearer the longer the longer he looked at Orson. His hair, which had been neatly combed for their trip to the show, was back to its wild mop that he was used to seeing every morning when Orson would get ready for the day. "I couldn't sleep." He said, and stood for a moment uncomfortable in the doorway. "Could I stay in here with you?"

It would not be the first time that they had shared a bed. Exhausted from certain nighttime activities, they would on occasion fall asleep in either bed, one waking before the other and leaving the shared warmth. "Of course." Galen said, and scooted back to make room for Orson on the bed. He was bushing furiously at the thoughts he had just been having, thoughts that had started with images so similar to this, but he tamped them down in an attempt to hide that fact from Orson who was joining him on the bed that more than large enough for two people.

"Thank you." He said, and though there was more than enough room for them to spread out and sleep completely apart, Orson pressed into Galen's side, his back to him as he burrowed under the comforter until only his nose and a tuft of light brown hair stuck out from underneath it. Galen couldn't be sure, but he had thought, before Orson looked away, that his eyes had been swollen and red, perhaps from crying. But it would only hurt to ask, so instead he sighed and let himself settle back into his sleep cycle, trying his best to keep the same thoughts that had soothed him earlier out of his head.

Galen woke early, unlike his usual cycle on Brentaal when he preferred to go for long walks at night to help with his insomnia rather than get up at such an early hour as Orson. But he never had slept for a long periods of time, and now was no exception. The air around him was cool with the feel of early morning, pale light showed everything in a dim wash around him. But he wasn't nearly as concerned with that as he was with his current sleeping arrangement.

At some point in the night, either one or both of them had curled him and Orson together in the middle of the bed. Orson was lying, half-covering him with his body, his head resting on Galen's bare chest while his body moved up and down slowly in time with deep breaths. He groaned lightly as Galen woke up, in a light enough sleep that Galen's slight motions disturbed him, but he did not wake, instead moving his arm further up Galen's body to drape more firmly across his chest. But even more than this, Galen was acutely aware that Orson's legs were entangled with his own, his thigh almost brushing against the front of Galen's sleep pants, which he could feel now were a bit tight due to the nature of morning. Not that the situation he was in was helping any, in fact, it was doing quite the opposite and keeping him from successfully relaxing his body as Orson continued to move against him, in the process of waking.

He wondered vaguely if Orson was in the same state, if being pressed this close to him, Galen half-naked, had the same effects on him at all. He felt his skin warm at the thought of it, a half-smile crossing his face as he shifted his body to tighten his hold around Orson. He closed his eyes, thinking that even if he couldn't get anymore sleep at the moment, it was worth staying like this to simply share this moment with Orson.

He was starting to feel a sort of whiplash. There were moments like this, where everything seemed peaceful and full of a gentle caring that Galen might dare to call love. He glanced down at Orson's still face at the thought, his ears burning at the unrealistic expectation that his friend might have heard his thought. But of course, there was no reaction from him. But then there were moments of almost desperation, when their relationship seemed far less about them and more about their potential to change the galaxy around them. When Orson's eyes would light with a fire that Galen had rarely seen otherwise, and his candor was that of a politician or a man inflamed on his own image.

But he had decided, months ago when they were discussing their break internships, that he would choose to see Orson in those moments as the smiling man who stood behind them. That the fire was simply a byproduct of genuine excitement and development and there was nothing to fear because it would never burn out of control. Fire consumed, and he had chosen not to believe that this fire might consume them.

"Mmm." He heard a grumble from the body draped across his chest, and opened his eyes again to the ceiling. "Galen?" He smiled at Orson's voice, his accent far more prominent that usual in his sleepy state. "What time is it?"

"Only slightly past dawn." He said, absentmindedly ran a hand along Orson's back as he started to wake more fully, only realizing his full motion after he had completed it. "You can stay asleep."

"Breakfast." The same voice grumbled, and he couldn't help the short laugh he gave in response, covering his face with his free hand. He felt a chin press to his chest and looked down to see Orson smiling at him.

"I would kiss you, Galen, but my breath is not it's best, and I need to go back to my own room." He said, and Galen acknowledged that his own breath was probably not much better, but now seemed like a very poor time to decide to care.

"It is okay." He said, and waited on Orson to start to get up so he could go shower as well, but the body that held him to the bed stayed put, and he felt Orson's forehead press to his chest, his curls tickling the skin there. "You don't seem in a hurry to leave."

"Are you?" Came a muffled reply, more like the voice he recognized. Perfectly level, with just a touch of an accent to give it an interesting sound. He sighed, everything was part of a persona, and it was only in those rare moments that it disintegrated.

"No." Galen answered softly, running his hand again along Orson's covered spine, tracing it with his fingers. But after only a few brief moments, he did shift and stand, half-pulling the blanket off of Galen as he went.

"They don't know about this part of our relationship." Orson said, looking at him, any traces of sleep gone as his mind had moved to other things.

"No one does to my knowledge." Orson nodded in agreement, but pressed his thumbs to his lips as he often did when he was thinking hard.

"You know…" He paused, looking at Galen, and even in the pale-washed light, he could see the blush creeping up his neck. "You do know I didn't bring you here to get a reaction from them, Galen." Galen nodded. What others might think of Orson Krennic, he could only guess. What he knew of the man in front of him was an entirely different set of realities that lent themselves to moments like the one they had just shared. He had never thought Orson might bring him here to get a reaction from his parents, partially because he did not want to even consider that possibility, and partly because he knew in his mind that that was not the intention. He wanted them to spend time together.

"Okay." He rubbed one hand against his neck. "After breakfast, I'm supposed to spend the day with my father. I thought you might want to explore the city."

"Okay." said Galen, not knowing what else to respond with. It would be a cold day in Hell before Orson's father invited him to work with them, and he had been looking forward to getting to explore.

"There's a card in the dresser you can use. It's full access to the transportation systems here and in town. It links to my parent's accounts in case you get hungry or something…" Orson was talking about all of this casually as if these were things he and Galen discussed everyday. Galen nodded, reaching across himself to pull open the drawer to find the card placed there with his name and picture illuminated on the front as a temporary user.

"I thought tonight you and I could go somewhere…exceptional." Galen cocked his head, and knowing it would make Orson happy, he smiled a genuine smile at the thought.

"Okay." He agreed. "But breakfast first." And he began to stand as Orson stepped out of the room, his own smile on his face.

Breakfast turned out to be a very brief affair, with Orson's mother already having left for the day and his father in a rush to get to the banking system due to some extenuating and continual financial crisis. He didn't acknowledge Galen as he hadn't at the Opera the night before, and both he and Orson left before Galen had finished his starches.

He was now in their home with the various servants for company. He had taken it upon himself to make his own bed after he showered, as he did every morning at the Program, and had thoroughly surprised the elderly woman who had come to do it for him. She had smiled, and patted him on the hand, telling him what a nice young man he was. He had been very uncomfortable, but had resisted the urge to pull away from her. At the end, the small mint that had been destined for his pillow had ended up pressed into his palm and she had shuffled away to tend to other things. The other servants, butlers, cooks and maids, had taken a keen interest in him. He had no doubt that at least one of them had noticed Orson's nocturnal stay in his room, and had even less doubt that word of it had gotten around.

He sighed, hoping they didn't see him as the 'interesting' affair of a rich man who wanted to push boundaries, which he knew was exactly how Orson's father saw the friendship, let alone if he knew about the probably relationship. Regardless, he tidied up his own dishes, wiping any scraps form his plate in neat circles so that the plate only needed sanitized. He was halfway through this ritual when he felt a pair of eyes on him, a woman picking up the dishes that both Krennics had left behind staring hard at his back. He looked away quickly, setting his plate down and bounding up the stairs before she had the chance to say anything to him.

He took his bag with him, deciding it was better to have it in case the mood struck him to work along one of the bustling streets of cafes or restaurants or libraries that he walked through. He gazed in windows as he exited the trains, watched people mill around him by the thousands, but was able to keep to his own little place. He garnered attention from some, from what he knew were his uncharacteristic looks. High cheekbones, dark hair, olive skin, dark eyes. He did not look like the Lexrulians that were milling around, but he was not the only outsider their either. Non-human sentients were plentiful, and he passed many bars that were alive with music from worlds he could recognize as beyond this one.

It was then that caused him to stop first, outside of a store where the front was not written in Basic, but who was decorated in musical signatures. He pushed open the door to a tinkling of a small bell, and an elderly looking human woman, silver hair pulled up in an elaborate up-do on top on her head, almond-shaped glasses covering her eyes. She smiled at him with her perfectly straight teeth and blue eyes, a native of the planet for sure. He was the only one in the shop.

"Looking for something specific?"

"No," he replied softly, lowering his gaze. The showroom floor was covered with instruments, propped up with small benches to play them, the walls decorated with packets of both cheap and fine strings, reeds, keys, replacement parts for instruments, and equipment to build one's own. He was awash with a wave of memories, of going into the town center on Grange when he was around three years old, and seeing the large keyboard there for the first time.

He had been with his mother, she was applying for farming permits of some sort, but he had been pulled away from her side by the music. He could remember closing his eyes, hearing the sway of the tempo as the amateur pianist missed the occasional note, but otherwise played beautifully. He could remember walking away from her, standing by the bench to look at the book of music the man was playing, dressed in a small, dirty tunic. He remembered swaying and instantly attaching where the man was playing on the page with the sounds it could create. It was beautiful, so beautiful, and he could remember that moment of discovery.

His mother had come over to him, put a hand on his shoulder and apologized, which the younger man had shrugged off with a look at the younger Galen as he kept playing. His mother had pushed lightly on his back, trying to guide him away, but he had refused. "No." He had said, and closed his eyes again to the music. Galen had said his first word, up until then assumed entirely nonverbal. Incredible intelligence, but never had a word passed his lips, but even to his three-year-old mind, the music he had heard had been too important.

The rest had come easily. His mother, overjoyed at the fact that he had spoken, had let him stay there. After she explained briefly, with almost sobs of excitement, the man had let Galen sit on the bench and let him press the keys into the instrument, his fingers barely large enough to be able to do so. But it had been incredible, and though it had meant much extra work the next day on the farm, it had been worth it.

The rest he had learned in the sparse time that he had. Grange children were not required to go to school after they learned the basics of reading and writing and mathematics and agriculture. Beyond that, unless you were the child of Grange's Senator, who had been sent to an Academy, often times schooling happened at home with parents who had the same level of education as the children that graduated at age nine or so. For him, he had entered already knowing how to read and write and do math and farm appropriately, but no one had known this because he had always been delayed in speech. He had wondered, now that he was older, if he had done it on intention. For the most part, the teacher's in the school had given up on his progress, and he was allowed to go to the small music room with most of his time while wealthier or slower children continued to scramble over letters or digits.

Music had been his first love, his first passion. He had learned to play in only a few days, and by the time the operator of the school realized that his mathematics scores were well beyond that of an ordinary nine-year old, he had become an expert at all six of the instruments the school owned. He played until he would realize that someone was watching him with almost trepidation. But now, standing in this shop with this woman he did not know, he was once again surrounded by an opportunity that had alluded him since his travels to Brentaal where the musical compositions he used to scribble into the hard packed dirt outside of their old house had given way to multi-colored notes that exposed further parts of a genius he was hardly comfortable possessing.

"You can try one out if you like." He must have bene thinking to himself for longer than he thought, and nodded quickly, blushing while the woman gave him an affectionate smile. "It's rare we get younger people in here. Usually people my age." He smiled at her, but if she was surprised by his slight imperfection, she didn't acknowledge it.

He moved to the keyboard, the first he had learned to play, and pressed fingers to the keys. To his relief, it was perfectly in tune. So often, the instruments he had found in public venues, or even in private places, played sour notes at first probing and he wouldn't have time to stay and tune this one. His fingers found the start of his key and he began to play the first song that came fully to his memory. It was a love ballad, of two people fighting on opposites sides of a war that had long since been forgotten. He had never learned the words, if truth be told, he could not remember ever singing out loud, but the melody came to him all the same. It was low and haunting, in a soft minor key that would lend itself to dimly lit rooms or resting with a loved one. It was beautiful, and he found himself swaying to it, an old habit that seemed impossible to break.

"How long have you been playing?" He hadn't noticed the woman come up behind him, but even though he was startled, he finished the song on its last few sweet notes.

"Since I was almost four." He said.

"Do you have one of these?" He shook his head, and kept his eyes down, removing his fingers from the key. There was a part of him that yearned badly for one of these for his own, and someday, he thought he might have one. His mind glimpsed briefly to an image of himself playing that same ballad, and Orson standing behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding a glass of wine. It was such a pleasant thought that he could feel his ears burning for having thought of it, though this woman would be none the wiser.

"No." He said, "I hope that someday I might afford one."

"Are you in school?" She said, "You look the right age. What are you going for?"

"Engineering," He replied, a little taken aback by this woman's questions, but she was not unfriendly. In fact, he suspected she was impressed with his playing, and had been rather bored before his arrival.

"Oh, honey, you'll be able to get one soon then." She said and stepped away from him, her silver sparkling tunic catching lights that were illuminated in the shape of time signatures. "Here." She had him a small package. "You keep that, and come back and see me when you graduate." She smiled at him, her lips unnaturally red against her teeth.

He looked in his hand, a holo-net address and a small, piano ornament were sitting in his palm, engraved with the name of the shop. It was beautifully crafted, perfectly to scale, and the exact style he would have chosen in an actual model.

"Thank you." He said, "I will do that." And he placed the little model in the protected pocket of his bag before starting to make his way out, the woman humming the tune he had played behind him.

He stood in his guest room, arranging the piano so it would align perfectly with the corner of the desk. He could not help but continue to smile at it, he had always wanted a piano and even if his fingers could not dance over the keys like he wished for them to, it was a beautiful start and a thoughtful gift that reinforced for him the kindness of strangers.

"Are you ready to go?" He heard Orson's voice behind him, and turned to see Orson dressed far more casually than he had been that morning, still refined, but not uptight. His face was pulled in stressed lines though, evidence of a day spent holding his tongue. Galen grabbed the small box from the desk, in it a set of spice cakes after he had finally managed to find a bakery in the long strip of stores, and watched Orson's face light up at the gift inside, though he laid it back on the nightstand. .

"Yes." He said, and Orson smiled, looking quizzically at the small piano, but not asking. Galen knew because he had something perhaps more important on his mind.


	21. Chapter 21

Orson had been more than right: this place was exceptional. It was a cave, and thought their were pieces of fine furniture, a couch, a bed, some silken blankets that Orson had obviously had placed here, it retained its ethereal beauty as the walls glowed, bright enough to illuminate the man standing in front of him, but dark enough so that that same light wouldn't be overwhelming.

"They aren't kyber crystals." Orson said, reaching up to run his fingers along where a clear shard of the glowing rock extended. "But I thought you might like it." He said, looking back at Galen, smiling almost smugly. Galen wasn't quite sure how to express how much he liked it, how he had never thought he might be standing in a place like these. No, these weren't kyber, they didn't burn with the same heated energy, but that did not keep them from being extraordinary. He reached his hands out and grinned, watching Orson's face light up at the action.

"I used to come here," He said, "when I needed to get away for a while. I spent a lot of time here on breaks last year. A lot less overwhelming than being back there." He gestured roughly to his home, and moved to sit on the bed, leaning his back against the cool stone. "It used to be a commercial mine, but once they got the ore out they just left it here. It came with the property when we bought it."

Galen sat down next to him, removing his shoes carefully and placing them on the rug. The air was cool on his feet, but the bed was soft and warm. Not as soft as his bed in the house had been, but soft enough that he sank lightly into it and found himself being rolled towards Orson's weight.

"It is beautiful." Galen said, looking up above him at the clear crystals inlaid in the wall. A living mural, carved by nature and beings who had passed through. A remnant of an ever-changing galaxy that he and Orson could now share together. He was almost mesmerized, and could feel Orson watching him, a small smile on his face. "How was your day?"

Orson let out a dry laugh, and Galen looked over at him, his eyes red, realizing now that it probably had not been a good question. "A day spent with my father is always an interesting day to say the least." He responded. "But it could have been worse. He was mostly civil after the incident at dinner last night. And I did get to meet some higher ups from the Core World banking systems, gave them my information, invited them to Brentaal. It wasn't a waste." He let out a long breath before he turned to Galen, his eyes glittering in the glow all around them. "How was yours then?"

"Fascinating." Galen said, and though Orson looked like he might have thought Galen was being sarcastic, he had never said anything more truthful. The city, with its bustling shops but quiet corners, the pastry shop that smelled of both baking bread and the sweet flowers from the capital garden, the people that had milled around him in an almost apathetic way had been an incredible change of pace from his normal routine. But most of all, he thought of the music shop. "Have you ever been to the music store in the center of the city? Next to the library."

"No." Orson responded, shaking his head in turn, his curls bobbing. "I don't know how to play anything."

"It is beautiful." Galen said. "I played the piano for the first time in years."

"Is that where you got the tchotchke?" Orson asked, and was clearly relieved Galen had brought it up so he could ask.

"The woman gave it to me. She told me to return and buy a real one from her when I graduated school and had the money."

Orson said nothing for a moment, watching Galen hard, clearly trying to riddle something out. "I have always wanted one. I think it will be the first thing I get when I graduate." He said, and nodded as if to solidify that agreement with himself.

"Not an apartment. A piano." He laughed then, at himself, covering his mouth shyly when he realized that he was being silly.

"Perhaps an apartment for it to go in." Galen agreed, and looked over at Orson, who's lips were upturned in his half-smile. He had something mischievous planned, Galen could see it in his eyes, but what it was, he couldn't begin to say. "But who knows if that will work out." He was being far more talkative than he had been in a long time, relieved, he assumed, at being out of the house. Caught up in the mystic wonder of the cave around them, the soft blue blankets, the warmth of Orson next to him, who had his hand now resting on the upper part of Galen's leg, warmth radiating out from just that simple touch.

"You don't doubt that you'll find work, do you?" Orson asked, the same fire of anger lighting up in his eyes. "Ignore my father, Galen, he doesn't know anything about you."

"I know," Galen said. "Neither does anyone else." He paused for a moment, pursing his lips. "Except for you." The last year of his life came tumbling to him. The physics class, the key card packet, the kiss that had seemed like an almost dream, the unconventional thoughts, the hours spent sitting across from Orson in the lab, their more recent interactions that were heated but controlled. His earlier trip to the store when he had thought of what the future might hold for them together, an easy life, one where they could be together and live in a world that might finally accept them.

He looked at Orson, his mind buzzing with images where it normally did with figures or notes. Orson seemed happy. A strange sort of happy, like the fact that he enjoyed that he was the only one who truly knew Galen, a distant look on his face. "I can show them, Galen. Together, we can do incredible things." He said, not bothering to whisper like he normally did when he said this sort of thing. The noise reverberated around the cave as Orson turned to him fully, pressing against him.

"We'll have a piano." He said, still smiling, so close to Galen that Galen could smell the hint of sugar candy overlaid with mint on his lips. "A place of our own in one of the finest cities." He looked down and laced his fingers together with Galen's, keeping them balanced on Galen's leg. "I'll give you everything, Galen. The crystals. The Stars. The galaxy."

Galen could feel his breath changing, quicker at Orson's closeness, at the inflection of his words that seemed to not only echo in the space, but reverberate into his soul. He could picture it: a happy life, a good life. His research, living in a house of Orson's design. Perhaps a child, one he could hold close to his chest as he played all the lullabies his fingers remembered on their piano. It was all so very easy to think of, so very easy to see.

"But first," Orson's voice was low now, almost dangerously thick, "I want to try something, Galen." He waited on a response, looking into Galen's eyes as he put himself fully between them.

"Okay." Said Galen, and pulled him into a kiss.

* * *

Orson was sleeping, once again draped on top of him, though this time it was in the small cave rather than in their bedroom. Galen ran a hand through Orson's slightly sweaty mop of curls, tracing that same hand over the skin of his back, taking time to feel the dips and curves that were along his path. He was exhausted himself, and knew that the next day would bring another set of trials as they dealt with the consequences of this, but he did not care. For once, he was not anxious about the interactions the next day might bring.

Instead, he simply enjoyed the feel of Orson's bare body pressed fully against his own, wrapped around him in a way that felt both protective and needing of protection that Galen was happy to offer. He looked down at Orson's back, shoulder, one of the only parts of him not covered by the blanket he had pulled up around them, and traced the glow of the crystals off the freckles on his skin. It was amazing to him how peaceful Orson Krennic could look, especially when his body had not stopped racing until long after Orson had collapsed on him after they were finished.

The idea of sex wasn't foreign to Galen. And he knew well that it wasn't foreign to Orson, who had enjoyed many other partners even in the time that Galen had known him. But this was more than sex, or at least he thought so, and the idea of intimacy was a whole separate issue to tackle altogether. If truth be told, he knew he wasn't good with affection, or articulation, or any number of other things that happy couples in cheap holovids always seemed to excel at. But Orson had not cared when they had started this venture, and, judging by everything, didn't care now. Intimacy came with its own set of fears and anxieties that Galen could now say rested as easy as his partner as his body began to settle into the warmth that surrounded him.

He pulled an arm up around Orson in a sleep embrace. "I love you." He thinks he might have only thought it, or perhaps he did whisper it into the mess of hair below his chin. Either way, as he drifts into pleasant dreams, he smiles and holds tight to the sleeping form around him.


	22. Chapter 22

"When is your life day, Galen?" Galen placed his chin on Krennic's shoulder, saying nothing. After a moment his lips pressed to the soft skin as well, but no words came past his mouth. Instead, his arms tightened around Krennic, pulling him back closer against his chest, which was only partially covered by an unbuttoned shirt, courtesy of his current bed partner. Galen was warm, his hand warm though Krennic's thin shirt, his back warm, pulled flush against him to the point that his mind trailed in other directions and he almost thought it might be best to come back the question later.

"Don't distract me, Galen." He whispered, turning his head to kiss Galen's jaw, moving his other hand back to trace along the fine line of stubble. It was amazing to think that only a few short minutes ago both of them had been wrapped up in work, charts and graphs and datapads now displaced to the floor or desk. The only reminder of their venture was the small piano ornament Galen had gotten on Lexrule. Since his desk had become covered in various pieces of equipment and crystal fragments and books, he had taken to working with his other things spread on his bed. Each time he would move, he would move the tiny piano from its designated place on his desk to one of his bedposts, where it just caught the light from their lamp and the gold writing embossed on it would glitter almost distractingly.

Krennic was fascinated by this. Such a tiny object that Galen hadn't even paid for was now an almost essential part of his routine. He had never known Galen to be attached to much of anything other than Krennic himself, and to see him move the piano with such care, flicking pieces of dust off of it with long fingers so as to keep it clean, was endearing to say the least. He knew Galen knew that he would simply watch him sometimes over the guise of reading a book, but he couldn't help it. His feelings towards Galen were only expanding, pushing past anything he had ever felt for anyone, including other sexual partners and even other flings he had never bothered to keep up with for more than few months at the longest. This was so very different.

He would watch Galen labor over his piano, rearranging it when a slight tremor might shake the building unexpectedly. He would bear quiet witness to Galen's workings over the crystal fragments he brought back to the room, suspending them on a metal contraption while he measured their energy output through a magnetic device that Krennic hadn't known the school even owned. He would watch his dark eyes light up at the work he was doing, hear his voice talking sometimes to no one in particular about what he was witnessing. Galen Erso was fascinating, and had become Krennic's favorite thing to see.

But when he loved most to watch Galen, besides the time when he would be so entranced by a particular bit of information that when Krennic would ghost fingers of his neck, it would startle him comically, was when he was like this. When he would allow himself to be open, to be vulnerable, to feel fully everything he was feeling. From their first time together in the cave, when every one of Galen's words seemed to be writ into his skin, to the times that followed on Lexrule to the times they had now shared in their room, he was obsessed with the changing flush of Galen's skin, of the way his dark eyes would get even darker as he looked into Krennic's even as he smiled, as the way his hands with their long, nimble fingers were finally comfortably moving over his skin, unfastening buttons and undoing zippers. In these moments, when he could feel the tangential feelings from Galen, Krennic realized he was seeing a sight of almost ethereal beauty. And, perhaps what was most endearing, is Galen, no matter how many time she could tell him, would still blush red when Krennic would say those things to him.

"I am not distracting you." He said in answer, though the hand that moved to barely touch bare skin under Krennic's tunic begged to differ. "I do not celebrate my life day."

"What?" Krennic said, admonished. "It's an excuse to celebrate, Galen."

"I do not need an excuse." He quipped, and Krennic had to laugh, though he was genuinely touched by Galen's words.

"You won't deprive me of one though, will you?" He said, to which Galen had no response but another kiss to Krennic's neck, a known weakness. "I know its this month, Galen, but I don't know the day."

"It is in three days." He finally relented with a soft sigh. "I do not want to celebrate, Orson."

"Fine." He said, and turned around to press his hands to Galen's chest, hovering over him, the man's hands going immediately to his hips to stabilize him. "You don't have to." He added, pulling him in for a long kiss that tasted of mint and chocolate. "But I have a new bottle of brandy I don't intend to waste."

Galen sighed softly again, but Krennic didn't give him long to be upset about the proposition, moving them to far more intensive, less controversial pleasures with another small laugh at the look on Galen's face at the mention of alcohol.

* * *

He was surprised they had one. He had never considered Brentaal to have many specialty shops, other than his frequented pastry store, which he now held a beautifully decorated cake under his arm from. So, when this small music store had what he was looking for, he was more than surprised.

He had spent all morning as construction had begun on the recreation complex, tooling over notes and arguing with the foreman of his project. He had lied to Galen, feigning project demands as an excuse to skip lunch, and had instead come shopping. Now, neatly wrapped in dark green paper with Galen's name scrawled in beautiful script, courtesy of the small man behind the counter, he was holding Galen's birthday gifts in his arms.

He hurried back to the campus, eager to see Galen's face. Certainly he wouldn't be upset that Krennic had gotten him something, after all, he had seen Krennic's home now, the money was no imposition. He only hoped that Galen might like it. Though, even if he didn't, he suspected that he would smile and claim to all the same.

The rest of the day passed far too slowly. Though Galen had insisted on not celebrating, Orson had not allowed him to refuse dinner at the same restaurant they had gone for lunch right after they met. It was a lively place, but reservations had been easy to come by. He was meeting Galen there, the cake balanced on top of the gift.

"I have a reservation for two," He told the woman at the desk. "Under Krennic. I believe my date might already be here." She nodded, pointing towards the back of the restaurant where he could just begin to see the top of Galen's head, his hair mussed from a long day of lab work wearing his goggles. "Thank you." He said, and turned to walk away.

"Are you celebrating something?" She asked, pointing to the box. "The staff will be happy to assist."

"No." Krennic said sharply, far more than he intended. He tempered it with a genuine seeming smile. "That won't be necessary, but thank you." And he left before she could ask more questions.

"I told you I did not want to celebrate, Orson." Galen said, as soon as he was close enough for Krennic to hear him.

"And I promised you I intended to either way." He answered, setting the boxes in the seat beside him, slightly alarmed at the glares that Galen was giving them. "I have saved you from the staff coming over and singing, you could at least be grateful."

Galen said nothing, pressing his lips into a thin line and feigning intense focus on the menu as Krennic smiled at him. He already knew what he wanted, so as the waiter took their drink order, he spent his time watching Galen instead. He was mouthing the menu to himself, his lips twitching up and down as they always did when he was focusing on something difficult to discern his feelings for. His hair was slightly fringed into over his eyes, but despite his initial reaction, he did not seem upset by this whole endeavor. Krennic wondered what had happened to make him so reactionary to life day celebrations to begin with, but figured that was a discussion for another day.

After they had ordered, the conversation turned to their work. He listened, asking the right questions at the right moments to encourage Galen to continue with his stories, which he wove intricately with the mathematics and theory that supported them, turning a simple day's work into a seamless backing for his own theory on how crystallography and the energy that could be harnessed from the crystals themselves came together. Krennic listened, sipping at his drink as Galen talked, enjoying the way his smile would pull at his already defined cheekbones, his slightly inward turned tooth catching his lip on occasion. To Krennic, and he knew to Galen, the world seemed their own. There were no other patrons, no one listening to this very private conversation which allowed the man in front of him to truly be himself. He in turn listened to every word Krennic said, his face lighting with genuine happiness or confusion at his words as they both chose to ignore what was going on around them.

Finally, when the food did come, the conversation only slowed, it did not stop. It turned to other things. Since forgotten quips from Lexrule where Galen had spent many days along in both the mines and the city and Krennic had met many of his father's acquaintances who had helped him make his start in interplanetary business ventures, some of whom were planning a visit to Brentaal to see Krennic's own work. It was all thrilling, words woven together between them to form almost a sort of net that was cast over them together. Stories that skirted around nights spent in the others' arms, in the others beds, on the others minds. Stories that hinted at, but never truly scratched the surface on the feelings that had been surfaced on Lexrule and carried back with them to Brentaal. Finally, though, the food was done, and Krennic could no longer contain his excitement.

"Your cake." He said, lifting up the rather plain looking box to Galen. Galen looked at it ruefully before lifting the lid, and thankful smile on his face as he did so.

"It is very nice, Orson." It was deep green, the same color that Orson had noticed Galen favoring more and more of as he was able to replenish his stock of clothes from his weekly stipend. His name was written in thick frosting across the surface, delicious and beautiful all the same.

"Before we eat." Krennic said, and handed Galen another box. He simply stared at it for a moment, hovering over his cleared placemat, before he took it in his hands.

"I did not want you to get me anything." Galen said quietly.

"I saw it and couldn't help myself." Krennic responded, watching Galen's long fingers undo the ribbon tied around the box. It came off easily in his hands, and Krennic watched as he wrapped the soft fabric around two of his fingers.

"The wrapping is beautiful," Galen mused, but Krennic could see his ear tips were burning as they always did when Galen was slightly embarrassed, and he couldn't help the smile that played up his lips, drumming his fingers excitedly on the table in anticipation as the rest of the paper came off. Now resting in Galen's hands was a small music player and a case of piano music: hundreds of symphonies and oratorios even instrumental operas and overtures. It was all there, at his fingertips, and he simply stared at it for a long moment.

"Well," Said Krennic, the silence driving him mad. "What do you think, Galen?"

"I love it." He said softly, and Krennic watched as he ran a thumb along the curve of the music player. "You did not have to get this, Orson. It seems expensive."

"I know I didn't have to Galen." He reached a hand across the table, which Galen placed his into. "I didn't do it because I had to."

"Why, then?" Galen asked, looking up at him, shock and uncertainty in his face.

"Because I love you." Krennic didn't realize he'd said it until the words had flown past his lips. He watched Galen's eyes widen, and felt his own face flush, his neck reddening. He couldn't believe he had done that, it could ruin everything.

"Oh." Said Galen, so more than a whisper. Krennic knew that while nothing about the restaurant around them had changed suddenly seemed as though it had fallen completely silent, that every patron, from the non-human at the bar who had far too much to drink to the elderly couple sitting a single table away, was looking at them, seeing Krennic's mistake. It was too soon. Galen wasn't ready, his silence proved that.

"Orson," He said, his voice seeming heavy. Krennic waited for the inevitable rejection. The saying he wasn't good enough, or that Galen thought they were moving too quickly. That they should end this. That he was wrong. He waited, the moment seeming a lifetime longer than reality. "I love you, too."


	23. Chapter 23

"Are you getting on board?" The train conductor was watching him carefully, taking in his appearance with tired eyes from a long shift.

"Yes." Galen said, and pulled out his pass from his pocket, scanning it and climbing aboard the mostly empty train. He had left the warmth of Orson's bed only a few minutes before, leaving his exhausted bed partner to sleep as his usual insomnia had urged him to move, to go on one of his walks that had so exhausted him during the term. But in this, over the course of recent days, he had found a new way of quieting his mind.

The trains that carried thousands to their daily commutes ran all night long as well. There was a station perhaps fifteen minutes from the Program campus that Galen found himself drawn to on its nightly schedule. He would climb on board, watch as the bright neons of the city faded to the pale glimmers of the housing district. He watched as the borders of populated land faded to the red-hued rocky landscape that was accosted by farmland where dry crops peaked on the mounds that farmers had constructed. He watched as that faded into the beautiful lake side tracks that spun past the major fisheries and stopped at the power station to let those working 3rd shift to stumble off in time for work. He could trace with his eyes the tributaries that fed the massive lake and the small ridge of the irrigation pipes that carried the water back to the inhabitants of a city that always buzzed with life.

As the train moved, Galen watched, absorbing the quiet stillness of a world that seemed to be sleeping while it continued to allude him. There were times, when he could see their loop coming back to its end, that he felt bad about what he was doing. He had learned, after deciding he could afford the train ticket for a single trip around the track, that if he exited at the same station without getting off elsewhere, it did not ring any charges, because, according to the system, he had traveled no distance. Though he felt badly, and some part of him was compelled to tell the tired conductor about the mishap, he would not be able to ride the train each night otherwise, so thus far, he had said nothing. There would be some day perhaps, that he would have enough money to ride the train each night and pay as he was supposed to, but today was not that day, and he told himself he might be happen to return and do just that in exchange for the relief it offered him now.

He moved to his usual car, which rattled only slightly as it was electrically propelled along its tracks. His eyes watched outside as the landscape flickered past, the tiniest compression noise hitting his ears as they stopped at the close-together stops of the city scape before they reached the long rattling of the farm land as the tracks turned from sharp curves to mostly straight paths.

Though there had been no viable research on it, partly because the field was so specialized, Galen was starting to wonder if it was the crystals were the cause of his insomnia. It seemed that the days he spent entirely in the lab were the longest days, where he would pour over his work and be the same level of mentally exhausted but his brain would not stop of even slow down long after he was finished.

It did not bother him, truly. He had long since dealt with sleep disorders, even on Grange when his feet had practically worn a path around the perimeter of the exact distance his mother would permit him to walk from the house in the almost complete darkness that would fall. Always the same path, always the same time interval, but even when it was complete, he would simply return to his room, and though he would be physically tired as well, sleep was still evasive.

Now, he let his mind drift from his research, a rare point for him. The more he poured over it, the more invested he became, and more difficult it was to retract from it. But now, his thoughts, as well as his general life provided an easy distraction.

They drifted to Orson, who was undoubtedly sleeping soundly, with the blankets wrapped around him to his nose as he always slept. Galen had noticed this, returning to their room often times to see only a tuft of curly brown hair curling out of the top of the blanket. When he would lie beside him, Orson would move, even in sleep, closer to the warmth of Galen's body. He was starting to wonder if Orson was permanently cold, or even unconsciously in need of affection. Regardless, he would inevitably wake with Orson wrapped fully in their blanket, and whatever part of his body uncovered by him chilly. It might have been irritating, but Galen didn't mind the cold. Or at least not as much as the prospect of lying alone in his bed with only a blanket for warmth. No, this was something he was happy to deal with.

Tonight, for example, they had not done anything other than speak for a while after dinner, lying Galen's bed with perhaps the intention of doing something more intensive, but neither having the full energy. Orson was exhausted from spending the day on construction sites, and for a time, Galen had a genuine fear he might fall asleep in his soup in the dining hall. He had not, however, but managed to speak with the same fluid lucidity that he always did, telling a grandiose tale of his day.

Galen wondered about these tales, and now, as they started to pass the lake, he thought of the one told today. Something about Orson having to decisively move out of the way of some large piece of equipment before it could strike him. He had, in the beginning of their relationship, doubted the full truth of these stories, all of which seemed to star Orson in some spectacular role. He had asked him about it once recently, and had expected defensiveness or hostility.

 _Instead, he had received a smirk from Orson, who had laughed at Galen's comments. "It's not about what happened, Galen," he said, "It's entirely about how you present it." It was then Galen realized that he did not have the proper imagination to be a good storyteller, and would leave that to Orson either way. That same conversation had ended with Orson pulling him to his feet, turning on some of the piano music and pulling them around the room in a misshapen waltz, laughing while Galen attempted to move with some semblance of grace. "Perception is everything, Galen." He had added._

" _Are you implying something about my dancing?" Galen had quipped, spinning unexpectedly. Orson had laughed loudly then, having to stop and cover his mouth with his embarrassment over the loud sound. Galen had closed his fingers around Orson's wrist, pulling him into a laughing kiss as the symphony reached its peak._

The train was pulling back into the station at the Program, and he rose carefully from his seat, feeling it shake underneath him. He walked to the front, scanning his card next to a new conductor who gave him a brief smile as he moved back towards the building.

"Galen?" He jerked his head up, moving forward as the train continued on its path again. It was a familiar, unexpected voice, and he blinked in slight astonishment at the sound of it.

"Orson?" And it was indeed Orson Krennic, fully and impeccably dressed as always, though Galen and the train staff were the only people here to see him. "How did you find me?"

"You weren't on campus. I was worried." He said, and for a moment, there was a strangeness between them, though Galen attributed it only to the fatigue and oddity of the situation at hand. "I came here. Saw the train tables and figured it might be worth the wait to see if you returned on it."

Galen took in the dark lines under Orson's eyes, the slight relief he was both hiding and exhibiting at seeing Galen making his way back to the Program building. "It was worth the wait, then." He said, and closed the space between them. Orson reached out, sliding his fingers down Galen's arm until he could thread their fingers together as they began walking.

"Yes." Orson said carefully, his voice thick again with sleep. They walked the rest of the way in silence, Orson a warm presence at his side. When they returned, they both changed quietly, Orson humming some small tune that Galen doubted he even realized he was humming to himself. When they were situated again, this time with Orson's back pressed against Galen, Galen's arm wrapped around his waist, and sleep finally threatening to overtake him.

"Orson." He said softly, getting a small noise in return. "I leave every night." The same noise of affirmation. "Why did you come looking for me?"

"I couldn't find you here." He said, and Galen blinked, "I was worried you weren't coming back."

"Oh." He said, and wrapped his arm tighter around his waist, closing his eyes to sleep as he felt Orson drift off against him. He tried against the rising tide of blackness behind his eyelids, to think of any occasion where he might leave permanently. He could think of nothing, no issue great enough to keep him away from Orson forever. The thought was comforting so that when sleep did come, it turned to pleasant dreams that carried him through until morning.


	24. Chapter 24

"It's spectacular, Orson." Galen spoke softly, his voice quiet genuine appreciation of the building before him. A summer spent together, much of it on the tracks surrounding the city, in each others' arms, in throes of stronger feelings that just some attribution, and Galen still seemed genuinely amazed at the scope of Krennic's abilities. "You are going into architecture, then?"

"I think it might be a disservice not to." Krennic said, smiling broadly at Galen's reaction. He had been almost afraid to bring Galen, not that he thought he would say something harsh about it, but that he might make that small lip twitch he made when things were not perfect as they should be. When numbers did not align, or when his crystals would not weld together as they should. His anxieties, however, had clearly not been merited as Galen looked carefully over the building, his eyes wide and bright as he took in the sleek design.

"A disservice to whom?" Galen quipped lightly. Krennic rolled his eyes and chose to ignore him.

"Should we go in, then?" And he didn't wait for an answer, pressing his hand to the clouded glass square to open the door to the finally finished recreational complex. It was his crowning jewel of the term break, the other projects mere sidebars compared to this one, which was nearly the size of their dorm room.

Galen followed him in, smiling gently at the modern cast, perfect white finish of the building. Krennic had designed it in the diagonals of what he envisioned the government buildings should look like, diagonal lines and the appearance of power. There was unrest, as there had always been, since the issues with the Trade Federation were escalating in the Core Worlds, he smiled slightly at the idea that his designs might someday reach the capital, show the galaxy the strength that the Republic held.

"It looks ready to open." It wasn't ready, in fact. It would not open until the term resumed in nearly two weeks time, just enough of a block to allow him to finish his other projects before classes began again.

"They are having the benefactors come look at it, tomorrow. A display of money well spent, I hope."

Galen nodded in acknowledgement, and began to walk through, taking in the large metal desk at the front, with wraparound help stations and scanners. The smashball courts that lined the back, the flameaning, new equipment along the sides, the blocked off rooms for fitness courses that all shown with the newness of it. "What is back there, Orson?" He asked, gesturing to a large set of doors.

"I'll show you." And he stepped through, shoes echoing hard on the floor. He pushed open the doors and was hit with the strong tang of chlorine that was coming off of the now glittering water that caught the outside light of Brentaal. It was massive, easily the size of an entire hall of their residence building, filled to the brim with water. "It should be a nice change of pace from the constant dust."

Galen stepped around the water's edge, looking down at it with both interest and trepidation. "I think you are right." He said cautiously.

"You want to go for a swim?" Krennic said, and without waiting for answer, undid his belt and began to pull his tunic over his head. He had full access to the building, with none of the security installed yet, and no one due to come through for hours.

"I don't know how to swim." Galen was blushing, his ear tips red under his ever-elongating hair. Krennic had gotten his cut, having dealt with the curls being practically stained red by the dust they stirred up under constant construction. It was still curly, the front of his hair retaining some of its volume, but it was much shorter while Galen's fringe now hung low enough to obscure his vision when he wasn't pushing a hand through it.

"It's not very deep." Krennic assured him. Which was true, if one stayed away from the diving end. "It's designed for laps, not for diving, really." Galen still looked a bit troubled, though also a bit distracted as Orson stood in front of him, clad only in his boxer briefs that he knew clung tight to his skin. Galen had given him that same look many times over the summer, in much more heated circumstances. Krennic grinned, relishing that he had managed to have some kind of hold over the ever-wondering thoughts of Galen Erso. He reached out a hand, tracing Galen's jaw with his thumb, "I know the designer of this particular building would be very unhappy if you at least didn't give it a try."

And he knew that Galen was going to relent the moment he said it. He let out a soft sigh as Krennic moved his fingers back away from his face, and watched as Galen began to peel his clothes off as well. HE took time as he always did, to admire Galen for a moment, his body lean but strong, his muscles ropy along hard lines rather than bulky. It was a look that suited him, and an aesthetic Krennic enjoyed looking at as often as time would allow. He waited until Galen was in the same state of undress before he also pulled off his underwear, realizing he didn't have another pair to wear back, and dove into the pool as Galen's eyes widened at him. When he resurfaced, he opened his eyes to see Galen's back above the water as he climbed down into the water, the cool water up a little past his waist.

Krennic waded, swimming over to him in long, broad strokes, watching as Galen treaded water with trepidation. When he was on the bottom run of the ladder, hesitating, Krennic reached out a hand. "I'll help you." He said, and it was only a moment before Galen took it, sliding off into the water next to him. He was more than tall enough to reach the bottom, and after a few moments, he seemed to enjoy the feel of it.

"We didn't have large bodies of water on Grange." He said, after a few moments of casually splashing, bending his knees so that the water came to his chest. "this is nice."

"I used to love swimming. Haven't had much of a chance to do it here." Krennic said, and knew Galen's eyes were on him as he pushed off from the wall, moving over the top of the water in broad strokes. He made his way to the other side, and pushed off again, grinning as he went underwater this time, moving towards Galen's still form by the side.

"It's better to go under," He breathed when he resurfaced. "The temperature doesn't feel so different." Galen was hesitating, still unsure of whether or not he would resurface above the still water. Krennic swam closer, feeling the heat of Galen's body under the water. He lifted a hand out, letting small droplets of water fall to Galen's shoulders, before he pressed his lips to his, his other arm wrapping around Galen's naked torso to pull him closer.

Galen opened his mouth, groaning softly as Orson's tongue pressed past his lips. "Galen," He whispered, when he pulled back for air. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes." Galen said, almost immediately as if any other answer would be wholly unacceptable.

"Good," Krennic whispered and kissed him again before he slid his arm up under his body and with an easy press to Galen's chest, he was underwater. He sprang back up almost instantly, startled and gasping.

He blinked at Krennic, using a hand to push his hair back off of his forehead. He looked almost angry for a moment, but couldn't stay that way as he took in Krennic's laugh.

"I only do it because I love you." Krennic said, moving closer to him again.

"I don't think trying to drown me constitutes love." Galen remarked, his voice falsely stern.

"I never planned on drowning you, Galen." He laughed again, "I'm only here to push you." He felt Galen's arms come to his hips under the cool water, his skin warm and inviting. "Who else would do that for you?"

"No one I know." Galen agreed, and met Krennic in another kiss, this time pulling them both underwater for a few blissful moments of being only surrounded by the water and each other.


End file.
